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BIOLOGY 

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BIRDS  THROUGH  AN  OPERA-GLASS.  In 
Riverside  Library  for  Young  People.  Illustra- 
ted. i6mo,  75  cents. 

MY  SUMMER  IN  A  MORMON  VILLAGE.  i6mo, 
$1.00. 

A-BIRDING  ON  A  BRONCO.  Illustrated. 
i6mo,  $1.25. 

HOUGHTON,   MIFFLIN   &  CO. 
BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK. 


A-BIRDING  ON  A  BRONCO 


FLORENCE  A.  MERRIAM 


I  do  invite  you  ...  to  my  house  .  . 
after,  we'll  a-birding  together. 

SHAKESPEARE. 


ILLUSTRATED 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 


Copyright,  1896, 
BY  FLORENCE  A.  MERRIAM. 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  &  Company. 


TJ2TI7BRSITY] 

'A  r  • 


PREFATORY  NOTE. 

THE  notes  contained  in  this  book  were  taken 
from  March  to  May,  1889,  and  from  March  to 
July,  1894,  at  Twin  Oaks  in  southern  California. 
Twin  Oaks  is  the  post-office  for  the  scattered 
ranch-houses  in  a  small  valley  at  the  foot  of  one 
of  the  Coast  Ranges,  thirty-four  miles  north  of 
San  Diego,  and  twelve  miles  from  the  Pacific. 

As  no  collecting  was  done,  there  is  doubt 
about  the  identity  of  a  few  species;  and  their 
names  are  left  blank  or  questioned  in  the  list 
of  birds  referred  to  in  the  text.  In  cases  where 
the  plumage  of  the  two  sexes  is  practically  iden- 
tical, and  only  slight  mention  is  made  of  the 
species,  the  sexes  have  sometimes  been  arbitra- 
rily distinguished  in  the  text. 

Several  of  the  articles  have  appeared  before, 
in  somewhat  different  form,  in  '  The  Auk,'  *  The 
Observer,'  and  '  Our  Animal  Friends  ; '  all  the 
others  are  published  here  for  the  first  time. 

The  illustrations  are  from  drawings  of  birds 
and  nests  by  Louis  Agassiz  Fuertes,  and  from 


iv  PREFATORY  NOTE. 

photographs  taken  in  the  valley  ;  together  with 
some  of  eucalyptus-trees  from  Los  Angeles,  for 
the  use  of  which  I  am  indebted  to  the  courtesy 
of  Dr.  B.  E.  Fernow,  Chief  of  the  Division 
of  Forestry  of  the  U.  S.  Department  of  Agricul- 
ture. 

In  the  preparation  of  the  book  I  have  been 
kindly  assisted  by  Miss  Isabel  Eaton,  and  have 
received  from  my  brother,  Dr.  C.  Hart  Merriam, 
untiring  criticism  and  advice. 

FLORENCE  A.  MERRIAM. 

LOCUST  GROVE,  N.  Y., 
July  15,  1896. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

I.   OUR  VALLEY         .        .        .        .         .        .        .  1 

II.   THE  LITTLE  LOVER         .        .        .        .        .  20 

III.  LIKE  A  THIEF  IN  THE  NIGHT    .        .        .        .38 

IV.  WAS  IT  A  SEQUEL  ? 48 

V.   LITTLE  PRISONERS  IN  THE  TOWER    ...  65 

VI.   HINTS  BY  THE  WAY 81 

VII.   AROUND  OUR  RANCH-HOUSE        ....  86 

VIII.   POCKET  MAKERS 103 

IX.  THE  BIG  SYCAMORE 112 

X.   AMONG  MY  TENANTS 123 

XI.   AN  UNNAMED  BIRD 140 

XII.   HUMMERS  ........  147 

XIII.  IN  THE  SHADE  OF  THE  OAKS     .                 .        .  159 

XIV.  A  MYSTERIOUS  TRAGEDY        ....  171 

XV.     HOW    I   HELPED   BUILD   A    NEST   .  .  .  .175 

XVI.   IN  OUR  NEIGHBOR'S  DOOR-YARD    .        .        .  184 

XVII.   WHICH  WAS  THE  MOTHER  BIRD  ?  189  % 

XVIII.  A  RARE  BIRD .        .  194 

XIX.  MY  BLUE  GUM  GROVE        .                                 ,  211 


LIST  OF   ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PAGE 

Mountain  Billy  under  the  Gnatcatcher's  Oak  .  Frontispiece 

Our  Valley 4 

Head  of  Black-headed  Grosbeak     .....  8 

Head  of  Rose-breasted  Grosbeak         .         .         .         .         .         8 
In  Hot  Pursuit  (Brewer's  Blackbird  and  Bee-birds)        .  13 

The  Little  Lover  (Western  House  Wren)   ....       20 
A  Trying-  Moment  (Western  House  Wren)      ...  32 

Nest  of  Western  Gnatcatcher       ......       39 

Head  of  California  Woodpecker 66 

Head  of  Red-headed  Woodpecker  (Eastern)        .         .         .66 
Jacob  and  Bairdi  visiting-  the  Old  Nest  Tree  ...  78 

Head  of  Arizona  Hooded  Oriole  .....       89 

Head  of  Baltimore  Oriole  (Eastern)         ....  89 

Head  of  California  Chewink        .         ...         .         .93 

Head  of  Eastern  Chewink         .         .         .         .         .         .  93 

Valley  Quail  and  Road-runner .99 

Nest  of  the  Bush-tit         .         .         .         ....         104 

Pocket  Nest  in  an  Oak 108 

The  Big  Sycamore    ........         114 

Along  the  Line  of  Sycamores      ......     124 

Head  of  Black  Phoebe      .......         129 

Head  of  Eastern  Phoabe 129 

The  Little  Hummer  011  her  Bow-knot  Nest     .         .         .         148 
The  Swing  Nest  of  the  Hummer         .....     157 

A  Shady  Bower 160 

Head  of  Green-tailed  Chewink .163 

The  Nosebag  Nest  (Vigors's  Wren)          .         .         .         .         173 
The  Plain  Titmouse  in  her  Doorway  .....     176 
Which  was  the  Mother  Bird  ?    (Wren-tit  and  Lazuli  Bunt- 
ings)          189 

The  Phainopeplas  on  the  Pepper-tree          ....     194 


viii  LIST    OF   ILLUSTRATIONS. 

The  Phainopepla's  Nest  in  the  Oak  Brush  Island   .         .  198 

Eucalyptus  Avenue,  showing  Pollarded  Trees  on  the  Right  212 

Eucalyptus  Wood  stored  for  Market  in  a  Eucalyptus  Grove  214 

Mountain  Billy  Deserted 220 


BIRDS   REFERRED  TO  IN   THE  TEXT.1 

White  Egret.     Ardea  egretta. 
Green  Heron.     Ardea  virescens  anthonyi. 
Spotted  Sandpiper.     Actitis  macularia. 
Valley  Quail.     Callipepla  calif  ornica  vallicola. 
Mourning  Dove.     Zenaidura  macroura. 
Turkey  Vulture.     Cathartes  aura. 

Hawk.     Buteo . 

Sparrow  Hawk.     Falco  sparverius  deserticolus. 

American  Barn  Owl.     Strix  pratincola. 

Western  Horned  Owl.     Bubo  virginianus  subarcticus. 

Burrowing  Owl.     Speotyta  cunicularia  hypogcea. 

Road-runner.     Geococcyx  calif  or  nianus. 

California  Woodpecker.     Melanerpes  formicivorus  bairdi. 

Red  shafted  Flicker.     Colaptes  cafer. 

Dusky  Poor-will,     Phalcenoptilus  nuttalli  calif  ornicus. 

Black-chinned  Hummingbird.     Trochilus  alexandri. 

Rufous  Hummingbird.     Selasphorus  rufus. 

Arkansas  Kingbird.     Tyrannus  verticalis. 

Cassin's  Kingbird.     Tyrannus  vociferans. 

Black  Phoebe.     Sayornis  nigrescens. 

Western  Wood  Pewee.     Contopus  richardsonii. 

Flycatcher.     Empidonax . 

Horned  Lark.     Otocoris  alpestris  chrysolcema. 

California  Jay.     Aphelocoma  californica. 

American  CrowT.     Corvus  americanus. 

Yellow-headed  Blackbird.     Xanthocephalus  xanthocephalus. 

Red-winged  Blackbird.     Agelaius  phcenicius . 

Arizona  Hooded  Oriole.     Icterus  cucullatus  nelsoni. 
Bullock's  Oriole.     Icterus  bullocki. 

1  In  classification  and  nomenclature  this  list  conforms  to  the  American 
Ornithologists'  Union  'Check-List  of  North  American  Birds,'  Second 
Edition,  1895.  L.  S.  Foster,  New  York. 


BIRDS    REFERRED    TO    IN    TEXT. 

Brewer's  Blackbird.     Scholocophagus  cyanocephalus. 
Western  House  Finch.     Carpodacus  mexicanus  frontalis. 

Goldfinch.     Spinus . 

White-crowned  Sparrow.     Zonotrichia  leucophrys  gambeli  (?). 

Golden-crowned  Sparrow.     Zonotrichia  coronata.  » 

Heerman's  Song1  Sparrow.    Melospiza  fasciata  heermanm  (?)• 

Spurred  Towhee  or  Chewink.    Pipilo  maculatus  megalonyx. 

Green-tailed  Towhee.     Pipilo  chlorurus. 

California  Towhee.     Pipilo  fuscus  crissalis. 

Black-headed  Grosbeak.     Ilabia  melanocephala. 

Western  Blue  Grosbeak.     Guiraca  ccerulea  eurhyncha. 

Lazuli  Bunting.     Passerina  amccna. 

Louisiana  Tanager.    Piranga  ludoviciana. 

Cliff  Swallow.     Petrochelidon  iunifrons. 

Phainopepla.     Phainopepla  nitens. 

White-rumped  Shrike.     Lanius  ludovicianus  excubitorides. 

Warbling  Vireo.      Vireo  gilvus  (?). 

Button's  Vireo.      Vireo  huttoni  (?). 

Least  Vireo.      Vireo  bellii  pusillus  (?). 

Long-tailed  Chat.     Icteria  virens  longicauda. 

American  Pipit.     Anthus  pensilvanicus. 

California  Thrasher.     Harporhynchus  redivivus. 

Vigors's  Wren.     Thryothorus  bewickii  spilurus. 

Western  House  Wren.     Troglodytes  cedon  aztecus. 

Plain  Titmouse.     Parus  inornatus. 

Wren-tit.     Chamcea  fasciata. 

California  Bush-tit.     Psaltriparus  minimus  californicus. 

Western  Gnatcatcher.     Polioptila  ccerulea  obscura. 

Varied  Thrush  or  Oregon  Robin.     Hesperocichla  ncevia. 

Western  Bluebird.     Sialia  mexicana  occidentalis. 


A-BIKDING   01ST  A  BKONCO. 


I. 

OUR   VALLEY. 

"  CLIMB  the  mountain  back  of  the  house  and 
you  can  see  the  Pacific,"  the  ranchman  told  me 
with  a  gleam  in  his  eye ;  and  later,  when  I  had 
done  that,  from  the  top  of  a  peak  at  the  foot  of 
the  valley  he  pointed  out  the  distant  blue  moun- 
tains of  Mexico.  Then  he  gave  me  his  daughter's 
saddle  horse  to  use  as  long  as  I  was  his  guest,  that 
I  might  explore  the  valley  and  study  its  birds  to 
the  best  advantage.  Before  coming  to  Califor- 
nia, I  had  known  only  the  birds  of  New  York 
and  Massachusetts,  and  so  was  filled  with  eager 
enthusiasm  at  thought  of  spending  the  migration 
and  nesting  season  in  a  new  bird  world. 

I  had  no  gun,  but  was  armed  with  opera-glass 
and  note-book,  and  had  Bidgway's  Manual  to  turn 
to  in  all  my  perplexities.  Every  morning,  right 
after  breakfast,  my  horse  was  brought  to  the  door 
and  I  set  out  to  make  the  rounds  of  the  valley. 
I  rode  till  dinner  time,  getting  acquainted  with 
the  migrants  as  they  came  from  the  south,  and 


2  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

calling  at  the  more  distant  nests  on  the  way. 
After  dinner  I  would  take  my  camp-stool  and 
stroll  through  the  oaks  at  the  head  of  the  valley, 
for  a  quiet  study  of  the  nearer  nests.  Then  once 
more  my  horse  would  be  brought  up  for  me  to 
take  a  run  before  sunset ;  and  at  night  I  would 
identify  my  new  birds  and  write  up  the  notes 
of  the  day.  What  more  could  observer  crave? 
The  world  was  mine.  I  never  spent  a  happier 
spring.  The  freedom  and  novelty  of  ranch  life 
and  the  exhilaration  of  days  spent  in  the  saddle 
gave  added  zest  to  the  delights  of  a  new  fauna. 
In  my  small  valley  circuit  of  a  mile  and  a  half, 
I  made  the  acquaintance  of  about  seventy-five 
birds,  and  without  resort  to  the  gun  was  able  to 
name  fifty-six  of  them. 

My  saddle  horse,  a  white  bronco  who  went  by 
the  musical  name  of  Canello,  had  been  broken  by 
a  Mexican  whose  cruelty  had  tamed  the  wild  blood 
in  his  veins  and  left  him  with  a  fear  of  all  swar- 
thy skins.  Now  he  could  be  ridden  bareback  by 
the  little  girls,  with  only  a  rope  noose  around  his 
nose,  and  was  warranted  to  stand  still  before  a 
flock  of  birds  so  long  as  there  was  grass  to  eat. 
He  was  to  be  relied  on  as  a  horse  of  ripe  experi- 
ence and  mature  judgment  in  matters  of  local 
danger.  No  power  of  bit  or  spur  could  induce 
him  to  set  foot  upon  a  piece  of  '  boggy  land,'  and 
to  give  me  confidence  one  of  the  ranchman's  sons 
said,  "  Wherever  I  ?ve  killed  a  rattlesnake  from 


OUR    VALLEY.  3 

him  he  '11  shy  for  years ;  "  and  went  on  to  cite  lo- 
calities where  a  sudden,  violent  lurch  had  nearly 
sent  him  over  Canello's  head!  What  greater 
recommendation  could  I  wish  ? 

If  the  old  horse  had  had  any  wayward  impulses 
left,  his  Mexican  bit  would  have  subdued  them. 
It  would  be  impossible  to  use  such  an  iron  in  the 
mouth  of  an  eastern  horse.  They  say  the  Mexi- 
cans sometimes  break  horses'  jaws  with  it.  From 
the  middle  of  the  bit,  a  flat  bar  of  iron,  three  quar- 
ters of  an  inch  wide,  extended  back  four  inches, 
lying  on  the  horse's  tongue  or  sticking  into  the 
roof  of  his  mouth,  according  to  the  use  of  the 
curb  —  there  was  no  other  rein.  The  bit  alone 
weighed  sixteen  ounces.  The  bridle,  which  came 
from  Ensenada  in  Lower  California,  then  the  seat 
of  a  great  gold  excitement,  was  made  of  braided 
raw-hide.  It  was  all  hand  work;  there  was  not  a 
buckle  about  it.  The  leather  quirt  at  the  end  of 
the  reins  was  the  only  whip  necessary.  When  I 
left  the  ranch  the  bridle  was  presented  to  me,  and 
it  now  hangs  behind  my  study  door,  a  proud  tro- 
phy of  my  western  life,  and  one  that  is  looked  upon 
with  mingled  admiration  and  horror  by  eastern 
horsemen. 

Canello  and  I  soon  became  the  best  of  friends. 
I  found  in  him  a  valuable  second  —  for,  as  I  had 
anticipated,  the  birds  were  used  to  grazing  horses, 
and  were  much  less  suspicious  of  an  equestrian 
than  a  foot  passenger  —  and  he  found  in  me  a 


4  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

movable  stake,  constantly  leading  him  to  new 
grazing  ground ;  for  when  there  was  a  nest  to 
watch  I  simply  hung  the  bridle  over  the  pommel 
and  let  him  eat,  so  getting  free  hands  for  opera- 
glass  and  note-book.  To  be  sure,  there  were 
slight  causes  of  difference  between  us.  He  liked 
to  watch  birds  in  the  high  alfalfa  under  the  syca- 
mores, but  when  it  came  to  standing  still  where 
the  hot  sun  beat  down  through  the  brush  and  there 
was  nothing  to  eat,  his  interest  in  ornithology 
flagged  perceptibly.  Then  he  sometimes  carried 
the  role  of  grazing  horse  too  far,  marching  off  to 
a  fresh  clump  of  grass  out  of  sight  of  my  nest 
at  the  most  interesting  moment ;  or  when  I  was 
intently  gazing  through  my  glass  at  a  rare  bird, 
he  would  sometimes  give  a  sudden  kick  at  a  horse- 
fly, bobbing  the  glass  out  of  range  just  as  I  was 
making  out  the  character  of  the  wing-bars. 

From  the  ranch-house,  encircled  by  live-oaks, 
the  valley  widened  out,  and  was  covered  with  or- 
chards and  vineyards,  inclosed  by  the  low  brush- 
grown  ridges  of  the  Coast  Mountains.  It  was  a 
veritable  paradise  for  the  indolent  field  student. 
With  so  much  insect-producing  verdure,  birds 
were  everywhere  at  all  times.  There  were  no  long 
hours  to  sit  waiting  on  a  camp-stool,  and  only  here 
and  there  a  treetop  to  '  sky '  the  wandering  birds. 
The  only  difficulty  was  to  choose  your  intimates. 

Canello  and  I  had  our  regular  beat,  down  past 
the  blooming  quince  and  apricot  orchard,  along 


OUR    VALLEY.  5 

the  brush-covered  side  of  the  valley  where  the  mi- 
grants flocked,  around  the  circle  through  a  great 
vineyard  in  the  middle  of  the  valley,  past  a  pond 
where  the  feathered  settlers  gathered  to  bathe, 
and  so  back  home  to  the  oaks  again. 

I  liked  to  start  out  in  the  freshness  of  the  morn- 
ing, when  the  fog  was  breaking  up  into  buff  clouds 
over  the  mountains  and  drawing  off  in  veils  over 
the  peaks.  The  brush  we  passed  through  was 
full  of  glistening  spiders'  webs,  and  in  the  open 
the  grass  was  overlaid  with  disks  of  cobweb,  flash- 
ing rainbow  colors  in  the  sun. 

As  we  loped  gayly  along  down  the  curving  road, 
a  startled  quail  would  call  out,  "Who-are-you'-ah  ? 
who-are-you'-ah  ?  "  and  another  would  cry  "  quit  " 
in  sharp  warning  tones ;  while  a  pair  would  scud 
across  the  road  like  little  hens,  ahead  of  the  horse  ; 
or  perhaps  a  covey  would  start  up  and  whirr  over 
the  hillside.  The  sound  of  Canello's  flying  hoofs 
would  often  rouse  a  long-eared  jack-rabbit,  who 
with  long  leaps  would  go  bounding  over  the  flow- 
ers, to  disappear  in  the  brush. 

The  narrow  road  wound  through  the  dense  bushy 
undergrowth  known  as  '  chaparral,'  and  as  Canello 
galloped  round  the  sharp  curves  I  had  to  bend 
low  under  the  sweeping  branches,  keeping  alert 
for  birds  and  animals,  as  well  as  Mexicans  and 
Indians  that  we  might  meet. 

This  corner  of  the  valley  was  the  mouth  of  Twin 
Oaks  Canyon,  and  was  a  forest  of  brush,  alive  with 


6  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

birds,  and  visited  only  by  the  children  whose  small 
schoolhouse  stood  beside  the  giant  twin  oak  from 
which  the  valley  post-office  was  named.  Flocks 
of  migrating  warblers  were  always  to  be  found 
here ;  flycatchers  shot  out  at  passing  insects ; 
chewinks  scratched  among  the  dead  leaves  and 
flew  up  to  sing  on  the  branches ;  insistent  vireos 
cried  tu-whipf  tu-whip1  tit-whip1  tu-wed-ah,  com- 
ing out  in  sight  for  a  moment  only  to  go  hunting 
back  into  the  impenetrable  chaparral;  lazuli 
buntings  sang  their  musical  round;  blue  jays  — 
blue  squawkers,  as  they  are  here  called  —  went 
screaming  harshly  through  the  thicket ;  and  the 
clear  ringing  voice  of  the  wren-tit  ran  down  the 
scale,  now  in  the  brush,  now  echoing  from  the 
bowlder-strewn  hills  above.  But  the  king  of  the 
chaparral  was  the  great  brown  thrasher.  His 
loud  rollicking  song  and  careless  independent 
ways,  so  suggestive  of  his  cousin,  the  mocking- 
bird, made  him  always  a  marked  figure. 

There  was  one  dense  corner  of  the  thicket 
where  a  thrasher  lived,  and  I  used  to  urge  Canello 
through  the  tangle  almost  every  morning  for  the 
pleasure  of  sharing  his  good  spirits.  He  was  not 
hard  to  find,  big  brown  bird  that  he  was,  stand- 
ing on  the  top  of  a  bush  as  he  shouted  out  boister- 
ously, kick' -it-no w,  kick!-it-now,  shut'-up  shut1 -up, 
dor'-a-thy  dor'-a-thy  ;  or,  calling  a  halt  in  his  mad 
rhapsody,  slowly  drawled  out,  whoa1 -now,  whoa1- 
now.  After  listening  to  such  a  tirade  as  this,  it 


OUR    VALLEY.  7 

was  pleasant  to  come  to  an  opening  in  the  brush 
and  find  a  band  of  gentle  yellow-birds  leaning 
over  the  blossoms  of  the  white  forget-me-nots. 

There  were  a  great  many  hummingbirds  in  the 
chaparral,  and  at  a  certain  point  on  the  road  I 
was  several  times  attacked  by  one  of  the  pugna- 
cious little  warriors.  I  suppose  we  were  tread- 
ing too  near  his  nest,  though  I  was  not  keen-eyed 
enough  to  find  it.  From  high  in  the  air,  he  would 
come  with  a  whirr,  swooping  down  so  close  over 
our  heads  that  Canello  started  uneasily  and 
wanted  to  get  out  of  the  way.  Down  over  our 
headsi  and  then  high  up  in  the  air,  he  would  swing 
back  and  forth  in  an  arc.  One  day  he  must  have 
shot  at  us  half  a  dozen  times,  and  another  day, 
over  a  spot  in  the  brush  near  us,  —  probably 
where  the  nest  was,  —  he  did  the  same  thing  a 
dozen  times  in  quick  succession. 

In  the  midst  of  the  brush  corner  were  a  num- 
ber of  pretty  round  oaks,  in  one  of  which  the 
warblers  gathered.  My  favorite  tree  was  in  blos- 
som and  alive  with  buzzing  insects,  which  may 
have  accounted  for  the  presence  of  the  warblers. 
While  I  sat  in  the  saddle  watching  the  dainty 
birds  decked  out  in  black  and  gold,  Canello 
rested  his  nose  in  the  cleft  of  the  tree,  quite  un- 
mindful of  the  busy  warblers  that  flitted  about 
the  branches,  darting  up  for  insects  or  chasing 
down  by  his  nose  after  falling  millers. 

One  morning   the  ranchman's  little  girl  rode 


8  A-BIRDING   ON  A  BRONCO. 

over  to  school  behind  me  on  Canello,  pillion  fash- 
ion. As  we  pushed  through  the  brush  and  into 
the  opening  by  the  schoolhouse,  scattered  over 
the  grass  sat  a  flock  of  handsome  black-headed 
grosbeaks,  the  western  representative  of  the  east- 
ern rose-breast,  looking,  in  the  sun,  almost  as  red 


Black-headed  Grosbeak.  Rose-breasted  Grosbeak. 

(One  half  natural  size.)  (One  half  natural  size.) 

as  robins.  .They  had  probably  come  from  the 
south  the  night  before.  As  we  watched,  they  dis- 
persed and  sang  sweetly  in  the  oaks  and  brush. 

In  the  giant  twin  oak  under  whose  shadow  the 
the  little  schoolhouse  stood  was  an  owl's  nest. 
When  I  stopped  under  it,  nothing  was  to  be  seen 
but  the  tips  of  the  ears  of  the  brooding  bird.  But 
when  I  tried  to  hoot  after  the  manner  of  owls, 
the  angry  old  crone  rose  up  on  her  feet  above  the 
nest  till  I  could  see  her  round  yellow  eyes  and  the 
full  length  of  her  long  ears.  She  snapped  her 
bill  fiercely,  bristled  up,  puffing  out  her  feathers 
and  shaking  them  at  us  threateningly.  Poor  old 
bird  !  I  was  amused  at  her  performances,  but 


OUR    VALLEY.  9 

one  of  her  little  birds  lay  dead  at  the  foot  of  the 
tree,  and  I  trembled  for  the  others,  for  the  school- 
children were  near  neighbors.  Surely  the  old 
bird  needed  all  her  devices  to  protect  her  young. 
One  day  I  saw  on  one  side  of  the  nest,  below 
the  big  ears  of  the  mother,  the  round  head  of  a 
nestling. 

It  was  pleasant  to  leave  the  road  to  ride  out  un- 
der the  oaks  along  the  way.  There  was  always  the 
delightful  feeling  that  one  might  see  a  new  bird 
or  find  some  little  friend  just  gone  to  housekeep- 
ing. One  morning  I  discovered  a  bit  of  a  wren 
under  an  oak  with  building  material  in  her  bill. 
She  flew  down  to  a  box  that  lay  under  the  tree 
and  I  dismounted  to  investigate.  A  tin  can  lay 
011  its  side  in  the  box,  and  a  few  twigs  and  yellow- 
ish brown  oak  leaves  were  scattered  about  in  a 
casual  way,  but  the  rusted  lid  of  the  can  was  half 
turned  back,  and  well  out  of  sight  in  the  inside 
was  a  pretty  round  nest  with  one  egg  in  it.  I 
was  delighted,  —  such  an  appropriate  place  for  a 
wren's  nest,  —  and  sat  down  for  her  to  come  back. 
She  was  startled  to  find  me  there,  and  stopped  on 
the  edge  of  the  board  when  just  ready  to  jump 
down.  She  would  have  made  a  pretty  picture  as 
she  stood  hesitating,  with  her  tail  over  her  back, 
for  the  sun  lit  up  her  gray  breast  till  it  almost 
glistened  and  warmed  her  pretty  brown  head  as 
she  looked  wistfully  down  at  the  box.  After 
twisting  and  turning  she  went  off  to  think  the 


10  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

matter  over,  and,  encouraged  perhaps  by  my 
whistle,  came  back  and  hopped  down  into  the 
little  nest. 

Two  weeks  later  I  was  much  grieved  to  find 
that  the  nest  had  been  broken  up.  A  horse  had 
been  staked  under  the  tree,  but  he  could  not  have 
done  the  mischief  ;  for  while  the  eggs  were  there, 
the  nest  itself  was  all  jumbled  up  in  the  mouth  of 
the  can.  I  could  not  get  it  out  of  my  mind  for 
days.  You  become  so  much  interested  in  the  fam- 
ilies you  are  watching  that  you  feel  as  if  their 
troubles  were  yours,  and  are  haunted  by  the  fear 
that  they  will  think  you  have  something  to  do 
with  their  accidents.  They  had  taken  me  on  pro- 
bation at  first,  and  at  last  had  come  to  trust  me 
—  and  then  to  imagine  that  I  could  deceive  them 
and  do  the  harm  myself  ! 

When  Canello  and  I  left  the  brushy  side  of 
the  canyon  and  started  across  the  valley,  the 
pretty  little  horned  larks,  whose  reddish  backs 
matched  the  color  of  the  road,  would  run  on 
ahead  of  us,  or  let  the  horses  come  within  a  few 
feet  of  them,  squatting  down  ready  to  start,  but 
not  taking  wing  till  it  seemed  as  if  they  would 
get  stepped  on.  Sometimes  one  sat  on  a  stone  by 
the  roadside,  so  busy  singing  its  thin  chattering 
song  that  it  only  flitted  on  to  the  next  stone  as 
we  came  up ;  for  it  never  seemed  to  occur  to  the 
trustful  birds  that  passers-by  might  harm  them. 

One  of  our  most  interesting   birds  nested  in 


OUR    VALLEY.  11 

holes  in  the  open  uncultivated  fields  down  the 
valley,  —  the  burrowing  owl,  known  popularly, 
though  falsely,  as  the  bird  who  shares  its  nest 
with  prairie  dogs  and  rattlesnakes.  Though  they 
do  not  share  their  quarters  with  their  neighbors, 
they  have  large  families  of  their  own.  We  once 
passed  a  burrow  around  which  nine  owls  were  sit- 
ting. The  children  of  the  ranchman  called  the 
birds  the  '  how-do-you-do  owls,'  from  the  way 
they  bow  their  heads  as  people  pass.  The  owls 
believe  in  facing  the  enemy,  and  the  Mexicans 
say  they  will  twist  their  heads  off  if  you  go  round 
them  times  enough. 

One  of  our  neighbors  milked  his  cows  out  in  a 
field  where  the  burrowing  owls  had  a  nest,  and 
he  told  me  that  his  collie  had  nightly  battles  with 
the  birds.  I  rode  down  one  evening  to  see  the 
droll  performance,  and  getting  there  ahead  of  the 
milkers  found  the  bare  knoll  of  the  pasture  peo- 
pled with  ground  squirrels  and  owls.  The  squir- 
rels sat  with  heads  sticking  out  of  their  holes, 
or  else  stood  up  outside  on  their  hind  legs,  with 
the  sun  on  their  light  breasts,  looking,  as  Mr. 
Roosevelt  says,  like  '  picket  pins.'  The  little 
old  yellowish  owls  who  matched  the  color  of  the 
pasture  sat  on  the  fence  posts,  while  the  darker 
colored  young  ones  sat  close  by  their  holes,  match- 
ing the  color  of  the  earth  they  lived  in.  As  I 
watched,  one  of  the  old  birds  flew  down  to  feed 
its  young.  A  comical  little  fellow  ran  up  to  meet 


12  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

his  parent  and  then  scudded  back  to  the  nest  hole, 
keeping  low  to  the  ground  as  if  afraid  of  being 
seen,  or  of  disobeying  his  mother's  commands. 
When  the  ranchman  came  with  his  cows  the 
small  owls  ducked  down  into  their  burrows  out  of 
sight. 

Romulus,  the  collie,  went  up  to  the  burrows 
and  the  old  owls  came  swooping  over  his  back 
screaming  shrilly  —  the  milkers  told  me  that  they 
often  struck  him  so  violently  they  nipped  more 
than  his  hair !  When  the  owls  flew  at  him, 
Romulus  would  jump  up  into  the  air  at  them, 
and  when  they  had  settled  back  on  the  fence 
posts  he  would  run  up  and  start  them  off  again. 
The  performance  had  been  repeated  every  night 
through  the  nesting  season,  and  was  getting  to  be 
rather  an  old  story  now,  at  least  to  Romulus.  The 
ranchman  had  to  urge  him  on  for  my  benefit,  and 
the  owls  acted  as  if  they  rather  enjoyed  the  sport, 
though  with  them  there  was  always  the  possibil- 
ity that  a  reckless  nestling  might  pop  up  its  head 
from  the  ground  at  the  wrong  moment  and  come 
to  grief.  It  would  be  interesting  to  know  if  the 
owls  were  really  disturbed  enough  to  move  their 
nest  another  year. 

When  Canello  and  I  faced  home  on  our  daily 
circuit  of  the  valley,  we  often  found  the  vineyard 
well  peopled.  In  April,  when  it  was  being  culti- 
vated, there  was  a  busy  scene.  All  the  black- 
birds of  the  neighborhood  —  both  Brewer's  and 


OUR    VALLEY.  13 

redwings  —  assembled  to  pick  up  grubs  from  the 
soft  earth.  A  squad  of  them  followed  close  at 
the  plowman's  heels,  others  flew  up  before  his 
horse,  while  those  that  lagged  behind  in  their 
hunt  were  constantly  flying  ahead  to  catch  up,  and 
those  that  had  eaten  all  they  could  sat  around  on 
the  neighboring  grape-vines.  The  ranchman's 
son  told  me  that  when  he  was  plowing  and  the 
blackbirds  were  following  him,  two  or  three  ;  bee- 
birds,'  as  they  call  the  Arkansas  and  Cassin's 
flycatchers,  would  take  up  positions  on  stakes 


In  Hot  Pursuit. 
(Brewer's  Blackbird  and  Bee-birds.) 

overlooking  the  flock  ;  and  when  one  of  the  black- 
birds got  a  worm,  would  fly  down  and  chase  after 
him  till  they  got  it  away,  regularly  making  their 
living  from  the  blackbirds,  as  the  eagles  do  from 
the  fish  hawks. 

One  day  in  riding  by  the  vineyard,  to  my  sur- 
prise and  delight  I  saw  one  of  the  handsome  yel- 


14  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

low-headed  blackbirds  sitting  with  dignity  on  a 
grape-vine.  Although  his  fellows  often  flock  with 
redwings,  this  bird  did  not  deign  to  follow  the 
cultivator  with  the  others,  but  flew  off  and  away 
while  I  was  watching,  showing  his  striking  white 
shoulder  patches  as  he  went.  The  distinguished 
birds  were  sometimes  seen  assembled  farther 
down  the  valley ;  and  I  once  had  a  rare  pleasure 
in  seeing  a  company  of  them  perched  high  on  the 
blooming  mustard. 

The  son  of  the  ranchman  told  me  an  interest- 
ing thing  about  the  ordinary  blackbirds.  He 
said  he  had  seen  a  flock  of  perhaps  five  hundred 
fly  down  toward  a  band  of  grazing  sheep,  and  all 
but  a  few  of  the  birds  light  on  the  backs  of  sheep. 
The  animals  did  not  seem  to  mind,  and  the  birds 
flew  from  one  to  another  and  roosted  and  rode 
to  their  heart's  content.  They  would  drop  to  the 
ground,  but  if  anything  startled  them,  fly  back 
to  their  sheep  again.  Sometimes  he  had  seen 
a  few  of  the  blackbirds  picking  out  wool  for 
their  nests  by  bracing  themselves  on  the  backs  of 
the  sheep,  and  pulling  where  the  wool  was  loose. 
He  had  also  seen  the  birds  ride  hogs,  cattle,  and 
horses  ;  but  he  said  the  horses  usually  switched 
them  off  with  their  tails. 

On  our  way  home  we  passed  a  small  pond 
made  by  the  spring  rains.  Since  it  was  the  only 
body  of  water  for  miles  around,  it  was  especially 
refreshing  to  us,  and  was  the  rendezvous  of  all 


OUR    VALLEY.  15 

our  feathered  neighbors  —  how  they  must  have 
wished  it  would  last  all  through  the  hot  summer 
months !  As  I  rode  through  the  long  grass  on 
the  edge  of  the  pond,  dark  water  snakes  often 
wriggled  away  from  tinder  Canello's  feet;  but  he 
evidently  knew  they  were  harmless,  for  he  paid 
no  attention  to  them,  though  he  was  mortally 
afraid  of  rattlers.  I  did  not  like  the  feeling  that 
any  snake,  however  innocent,  was  under  my  feet, 
so  would  pull  him  up  out  of  the  grass  onto  a  flat 
rock  overlooking  the  pond. 

In  the  fresh  part  of  the  morning,  before  the 
fog  had  entirely  melted  away,  the  round  pool  at 
our  feet  mirrored  the  blue  sky  and  the  small 
white  clouds.  If  a  breath  of  wind  ruffled  the 
water  into  lines,  in  a  moment  more  it  was  spark- 
ling. Along  the  margin  of  the  water  was  a  bor- 
der of  wild  flowers,  pink,  purple,  and  gold  ;  on  one 
side  stood  a  group  of  sycamores,  their  twisted 
trunks  white  in  the  morning  sun  and  their  branches 
full  of  singing  birds  ;  while  away  to  the  south  a 
line  of  dark  blue  undulating  hills  was  crowned  by 
the  peak  from  which  we  had  looked  off  on  the 
mountains  of  Mexico.  The  air  was  ringing  with 
songs,  the  sycamores  were  noisy  with  the  chatter 
of  blackbirds  and  bee-birds,  and  the  bushes  were 
full  of  sparrows. 

There  was  an  elder  on  the  edge  of  the  pond, 
and  the  bathers  flew  to  this  and  then  flitted  down 
to  the  water  ;  and  when  they  flew  up  afterwards, 


16  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

lighted  there  to  whip  the  water  out  of  their  fea- 
thers and  sun  themselves  before  flying  off.  I 
never  tired  watching  the  little  bathers  on  the 
beach.  One  morning  a  pipit  came  tipping  and 
tilting  along  the  sand,  peeping  in  its  wild,  sad 
way.  Another  time  a  rosy-breasted  linnet  stepped 
to  the  edge  of  the  pond  and  dipped  down  daintily 
where  the  water  glistened  in  the  sunshine,  sending 
a  delicate  circle  rippling  off  from  its  own  shadow. 
Then  the  handsome  white  and  golden-crowned  spar- 
rows came  and  bathed  in  adjoining  pools.  When 
one  set  of  birds  had  flown  off  to  dry  their  feathers, 
others  took  their  places.  A  pair  of  blackbirds 
walked  down  the  sand  beach,  but  acted  absurdly, 
as  if  they  did  not  know  what  to  do  in  water  —  it 
was  a  wonder  any  of  the  birds  did  in  dry  Califor- 
nia !  Two  pieces  of  wood  lay  in  the  shallows, 
and  the  blackbirds  flew  to  them  and  began  to 
promenade.  The  female  tilted  her  tail  as  if  the 
sight  of  herself  in  the  pond  made  her  dizzy,  but 
the  male  finally  edged  down  gingerly  and  took  a 
dip  or  two  with  his  bill,  after  which  both  flew  off. 

On  the  mud  flats  on  one  side  of  the  pond,  bee- 
birds  were  busy  flycatching,  perching  on  sticks 
near  the  ground  and  making  short  sallies  over  the 
flat.  Turtle  doves  flew  swiftly  past,  and  high 
over  head  hawks  and  buzzards  circled  and  let 
themselves  be  borne  by  the  wind. 

Swallows  came  to  the  pond  to  get  mud  for  their 
nests.  A  long  line  of  them  would  light  on  the 


OUR    VALLEY.  17 

edge  of  the  water,  and  then,  as  if  afraid  of  wet- 
ting  their  feet,  would  hold  themselves  up  by  flut- 
tering their  long  pointed  wings.  They  would  get 
a  little  mud,  take  a  turn  in  the  air,  and  come 
back  for  more,  to  make  enough  to  pay  them  for 
their  long  journeys  from  their  nests.  Sometimes 
they  would  skirn  over  the  pond  without  touching 
the  surface  at  all,  or  merely  dip  in  lightly  for  a 
drink  in  passing ;  at  others  they  would  take  a 
flying  plunge  with  an  audible  splash.  Now  and 
then  great  flocks  of  them  could  be  seen  circling 
around  high  up  against  a  background  of  clouds 
and  blue  sky. 

One  day  I  had  a  genuine  excitement  in  seeing 
a  snow-white  egret  perched  on  a  bush  by  the 
water.  I  rode  home  full  of  the  beautiful  sight, 
but  alas,  my  story  was  the  signal  for  the  ranch- 
man's son  to  seize  his  gun  and  rush  after  the  bird. 
Fortunately  lie  did  not  find  him,  although  he  did 
shoot  a  green  heron  ;  but  it  was  probably  a  short 
reprieve  for  the  poor  hunted  creature. 

Canello  was  so  afraid  of  miring  in  the  soft 
ground  that  it  was  hard  to  get  him  across 
some  places  that  seemed  quite  innocent.  He 
would  test  the  suspicious  ground  as  carefully  as 
a  woman,  one  foot  at  a  time  ;  and  if  he  judged  it 
dangerous,  would  take  the  bits,  turn  around  and 
march  off  in  the  opposite  direction.  I  tried  to 
force  him  over  at  first,  but  had  an  experience  one 
day  that  made  me  quite  ready  to  take  all  sugges- 


18  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

tions  in  such  matters.  This  time  he  was  de- 
ceived himself.  We  were  on  our  homeward 
beat,  off  in  the  brush  beyond  the  vineyard.  I 
was  watching  for  chewinks.  We  came  to  what 
looked  like  an  old  road  grown  up  with  soft  green 
grass,  and  it  was  so  fresh  and  tender  I  let  Ca- 
nello  graze  along  at  will ;  while  keeping  my  eyes 
011  the  brush  for  chewinks.  Suddenly  Canello 
pricked  up  his  ears  and  raised  his  head  with  a 
look  of  terror.  Kattlesnakes  or  miring  —  it  was 
surely  one  or  the  other !  When  I  felt  myself  sink- 
ing, I  knew  which.  I  gave  the  horse  a  cut  with 
the  quirt  to  make  him  spring  off  the  boggy 
ground,  and  looked  off  over  his  side  to  see  how 
far  down  he  was  likely  to  go,  but  found  myself 
going  down  backwards  so  fast  I  had  to  cling 
to  the  pommel.  I  lashed  Canello  to  urge  him 
out,  and  he  struggled  desperately,  but  it  was  no 
use.  We  were  sinking  in  deeper  and  deeper,  and 
I  had  to  get  off  to  relieve  him  of  my  weight.  By 
this  time  his  long  legs  had  sunk  in  up  to  his  body. 
On  touching  the  ground  I  had  a  horrible  mo- 
ment thinking  it  might  not  hold  me  ;  but  it  bore 
well.  Seizing  the  bridle  with  one  hand  and  swing- 
ing the  quirt  with  the  other,  I  shouted  encourage- 
ment to  Canello,  and,  straining  and  struggling,  he 
finally  wrenched  himself  out  and  stepped  on  terra 
firma  —  I  never  appreciated  the  force  of  that  ex- 
pression before  !  The  poor  horse  was  trembling 
and  exhausted  when  I  fed  him  up  to  high  ground 


OUR    VALLEY.  19 

to  remount,  and  neither  of  us  had  any  desire  to 
explore  boggy  lands  after  that. 

On  our  morning  round,  Canello  and  I  attended 
strictly  to  business, — he  to  grazing,  I  to  observing; 
but  on  our  afternoon  rides  I,  at  least,  felt  that  we 
might  pay  a  little  more  heed  to  the  beauties  of  the 
valley  and  the  joys  of  horsebacking.  Sometimes 
we  would  be  overtaken  by  the  night  fog.  One 
moment  the  mustard  would  be  all  aglow  with  sun- 
shine ;  at  the  next,  a  sullen  bank  of  gray  fog 
would  have  risen  over  the  mountain,  obscuring  the 
sun  which  had  warmed  us  and  lighted  the  mus- 
tard ;  and  in  a  few  moments  it  would  be  so  cold 
and  damp  that  I  would  urge  Canello  into  a  lope 
to  warm  our  blood  as  we  hurried  home. 


II. 


THE   LITTLE   LOVER. 

ON  my  sec- 
ond visit  to  Cal- 
ifornia, I  spent 
the  winter  in 
the  Santa  Clara 
valley,  riding 
among  the  foot- 
hills of  the  San- 
ta Cruz  Moun- 
tains, where 
flocks  of  Oregon 
robins  were  rest- 
ing from  the 
labors  of  the 
summer  and  passing  the  time  until  they  could 
fly  home  again ;  but  when  the  first  spring  wild 
flowers  bloomed  on  the  hills  I  shipped  my  little 
roan  mustang  by  steamer  from  San  Francisco  to 
San  Diego,  and  hurried  south  to  meet  him  and 
spend  the  nesting  season  in  the  little  valley  of 
the  Coast  Mountains  which,  five  years  before,  had 
proved  such  an  ideal  place  to  study  birds. 


The  .  Little  Lover. 
(Western  House  Wren.) 


7E! 


THE    LITTLE    LOVER.  -21 

I  went  down  early  in  March,  to  be  sure  to  be  in 
time  for  the  nesting  season ;  but  spring  was  so  late 
that  by  the  last  of  April  hardly  a  nest  had  been 
built,  and  it  seemed  as  if  the  birds  were  never 
coming  back.  The  weather  was  gloomy  and  the 
prospect  for  the  spring's  work  looked  discouraging, 
wRen  one  morning  I  rode  over  to  the  line  of  oaks 
and  sycamores  at  the  mouth  of  Ughland  canyon 
I  had  not  visited  before.  In  this  dry,  treeless* 
region  of  southern  California  only  a  little  water 
is  needed  to  cover  the  bare  valley  bottoms  with 
verdure.  The  rushing  streams  that  flow  down 
the  canyons  after  the  winter  rains  fill  their  mouths 
with  rich  groves  of  brush,  oaks  and  sycamores  ; 
while  lines  of  trees  border  the  streams  as  far  as 
they  extend  down  the  valleys.  Before  the  streams 
go  far,  the  thirsty  soil  drinks  them  up,  leaving 
only  dry  beds  of  sand  bordered  by  trees,  until  the 
rains  of  the  following  winter.  In  April,  the  water 
in  this  particular  canyon  mouth  had  already  dis- 
appeared, and  the  wide  sand  bed  under  the  trees 
alone  remained  to  tell  of  the  short-lived  stream. 
But  the  resulting  verdure  was  enough  to  attract 
the  birds.  Apparently  a  party  of  travelers  had 
just  arrived.  The  brush  and  trees  were  full  of 
song  -  -  yellowbirds,  linnets,  chewinks,  doves, 
wrens,  and,  best  of  all,  a  song  sparrow,  —  bless  his 
heart !  —  singing  as  if  he  were  on  a  bush  in  New 
York  state.  It  was  more  cheering  than  anything 
I  had  heard  in  California. 


22  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

When  able  to  listen  to  something  besides  song 
sparrows,  I  realized  that  from  the  trees  in  front  of 
me  was  coming  the  rippling  merry  song  of  a  wren. 
Wrens  are  always  interesting,  —  droll,  individual 
little  scraps,  —  and  having  found  their  nests  in 
sycamore  holes  before,  I  let  my  horse,  Mountain 
Billy,  graze  nearer  to  the  tree  from  which  the 
sound  came.  Before  long  the  small  brown  pair 
flew  away  together  across  the  oat  field  that  spread 
out  from  the  mouth  of  the  canyon.  While  they 
were  gone,  I  took  the  opportunity  to  inspect  the 
tree,  and  found  a  large  hole  with  twigs  sticking 
out  suggestively.  Presently,  back  flew  one  of  the 
wrens  with  more  building  material.  But  this  line 
of  sycamores  was  off  from  the  highway,  and  the 
bird  was  not  used  to  prying  equestrians  ;  so  when 
she  found  Mountain  Billy  and  me  planted  in  front 
of  her  door,  she  doubted  the  wisdom  of  showing 
us  that  it  was  her  door.  Chattering  nervously, 
she  would  back  and  fill,  flying  all  but  to  the  door 
and  then  flitting  off  again.  She  could  not  make 
up  her  mind  to  go  inside.  But  soon  her  mate 
came  and  —  unmindful  of  visitors,  ardent  little 
lover  that  he  was  —  sang  to  her  so  gayly  that  it 
put  her  in  heart ;  and  before  I  knew  it  she  had 
slipped  into  the  tree. 

Here  was  a  nest,  at  last,  right  over  my  eye. 
To  encourage  myself  while  waiting  for  something 
to  happen,  I  began  a  list  with  the  heading  NESTS, 
when  something  caught  my  eye  overhead,  and 


THE    LITTLE    LOVER.  23 

glancing  up,  behold,  a  goldfinch  walked  down  a 
branch  and  seated  herself  in  a  round  cup  !  A  few 
moments  later  —  buzz  —  whirr  —  a  hummingbird 
flew  to  a  nest  among  the  brown  leaves  of  one  of 
the  low-hanging  oak  sprays  not  ten  feet  away! 
I  simply  stared  with  delight  and  astonishment. 
No  need  of  a  list  for  encouragement  now.  From 
Billy's  back  I  could  look  down  into  the  little  cup, 
which  seemed  the  tiniest  in  the  world.  Forgetting 
the  little  lover  and  his  mate,  I  sat  still  and  watched 
this  small  household. 

The  young  were  out  of  the  eggs,  though  not 
much  more,  and  their  mother  sat  on  the  edge  of 
the  nest  feeding  them.  She  curved  her  neck  over 
till  her  long  bill  stood  up  perpendicularly,  when 
she  put  it  gently  into  the  gaping  bills  of  her  young ; 
the  smallest  of  bills,  not  more  than  an  eighth  of 
an  inch  long,  I  should  judge.  I  never  saw  hum- 
mingbirds fed  so  gently.  Probably  the  small 
bills  and  throats  were  so  delicate  the  mother  was 
afraid  they  would  not  bear  the  usual  jabbing  and 
pumping. 

When  the  little  ones  were  fed,  the  old  bird  got 
down  in  the  nest,  fluffing  her  feathers  about  her 
in  a  pretty  motherly  way  and  settling  herself  com- 
fortably to  rest,  apparently  ignoring  the  fact  that 
Billy  was  grazing  close  beside  her.  She  may 
have  had  her  qualms,  but  no  mother  bird  would 
leave  her  tender  young  uncovered  on  such  a  cold 
morning. 


24  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

While  she  was  on  the  nest,  there  was  an  ap- 
proaching whirr,  followed  by  a  retreating  buzz  — 
had  the  father  bird  started  to  come  to  the  nest 
and  fled  at  sight  of  me  ?  Remembering  the  evi- 
dence Bradford  Torrey  collected  to  prove  that  the 
male  bird  is  rarely  seen  at  the  nest,  I  wondered 
if  his  absence  might  be  explained  by  his  usually 
noisy  flight,  for  it  would  attract  the  notice  of  man 
or  beast. 

Two  days  later  I  carefully  touched  the  tip  of 
my  finger  to  the  back  of  one  of  the  tiny  humming- 
birds, —  it  was  very  skinny,  I  regret  to  state,  - 
and  at  my  touch  the  little  thing  opened  its  wee 
bill  for  food.  That  day  the  mother  fed  the  birds 
in  the  regulation  way,  when  we  were  only  four 
feet  distant.  I  was  near  enough  to  see  all  the 
horrors  of  the  performance.  She  thrust  her  bill 
down  their  throats  till  I  felt  like  crying  out,  "  For 
mercy's  sake,  forbear  !  "  She  plunged  it  in  up  to 
the  very  hilt ;  it  seemed  as  if  she  must  puncture 
their  alimentary  canals. 

While  waiting  for  the  wrens,  I  buckled  Billy's 
bridle  around  the  sycamore  and  threw  myself 
down  on  the  warm  sand  under  the  beautiful  tree. 
The  little  horse  stood  near,  outlined  against  the 
blue  sky,  with  the  sunlight  dappling  his  back, 
while  I  looked  up  into  the  light  green  foliage  of 
the  white  sycamore  overhead.  There  seemed  to 
be  a  great  deal  of  light  stored  in  these  delicate 
trees.  The  undersides  of  the  big,  soft,  white  leaves 


THE    LITTLE    LOVER.  25 

looked  like  white  Canton  flannel ;  the  sunlight 
mottled  the  whitish  bark  of  the  trunks  and 
branches  ;  and  a  great  limb  arched  above  me, 
making  a  high  vaulted  chamber  whose  skylights 
showed  the  deep  blue  above. 

But  there  were  the  little  lover  and  his  mate, 
and  I  must  turn  my  glass  on  them.  She  came 
first,  with  long  streamers  hanging  from  her  bill, 
and  at  sight  of  me  got  so  flustered  that  one  of  her 
straws  slipped  out  and  went  sailing  down  to  the 
ground.  When  the  pair  had  gone  again,  two 
linnets  came  along.  The  female  saw  the  wren's 
doorway,  and  being  in  search  of  apartments  flewv 
up  to  look  at  the  house.  When  she  came  out 
she  and  her  mate  talked  it  over  and,  apparently, 
she  told  him  something  that  aroused  his  curios- 
ity—  perhaps  about  the  wren's  twigs  she  found 
inside  —  for  he  flew  into  the  dark  hole  and  looked 
around  as  she  had  done.  Then  both  birds  went 
off  to  inspect  other  holes  in  the  tree.  The  master 
of  the  wren  cottage  came  back  in  time  to  see  them 
on  their  rounds,  and  taking  up  his  position  in 
front  of  his  door  sang  out  loudly,  with  wings 
hanging  and  a  general  air  of,  "This  is  my  house, 
I'd  have  you  understand  !  " 

When  the  lord  of  the  manor  had  flown  away, 
his  lady  came.  I  thought  perhaps  he  had  told 
her  of  the  visitors  and  she  had  come  to  see  if 
they  had  disturbed  any  of  her  sticks,  for  she 
brought  no  material.  She  was  afraid  to  go  to  the 


26  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

nest  in  my  presence,  but  flew  to  a  branch  near  by 
and  leaned  down  so  far  it  was  a  wonder  she  did  n't 
tip  over  as  she  stared  anxiously  at  the  hole  —  a 
bad  way  to  keep  a  secret,  my  little  lady  !  I  thought. 
When  her  merry  minstrel  came,  his  song  again 
gave  her  courage  and  she  flew  inside,  turning  in 
the  doorway,  however,  to  look  out  at  me. 

But  what  with  horses  grazing  under  her  win- 
dows and  linnets  making  free  with  her  nest,  the 
poor  wren  was  unsettled  in  her  mind.  Possibly  it 
would  be  wiser  to  take  out  her  sticks  and  build 
elsewhere.  She  went  about  looking  at  vacant 
rooms  and  examined  one  opening  in  the  side  of 
the  trunk  where  I  could  see  only  her  profile  as 
she  hung  out  of  the  hole. 

For  some  time  the  timid  bird  would  not  accept 
Mountain  Billy  and  me  as  part  of  her  immediate 
landscape,  and  I  watched  the  premises  a  number 
of  days,  getting  nothing  but  my  labor  for  my 
pains,  as  far  as  wrens  were  concerned. 

One  day  when  she  did  not  come,  I  thought  it 
was  a  good  chance  to  get  a  study  of  the  hum- 
mingbird's nest ;  but  alas  !  —  the  delicate  little 
structure  hung  torn  and  dangling  from  the  twig, 
with  nothing  to  tell  what  had  become  of  the 
poor  little  hummers.  I  moralized  sadly  upon 
the  mutability  of  human  affairs  as  I  took  the  tat- 
tered nest  and  tied  it  up  in  a  corner  of  my  hand- 
kerchief ;  for  it  was  all  that  was  left  of  the  little 
home  built  with  such  exquisite  care  and  brooded 
over  so  tenderly. 


THE    LITTLE    LOVER.  27 

The  yellowbird's  nest  came  to  an  untimely  end, 
too,  although  its  start  was  such  a  bright  one.  It 
was  a  disappointment,  for  the  goldfinches  are  such 
trustful  birds  and  so  affectionate  and  tender  in 
their  family  relations  that  they  always  win  one's 
warm  interest.  At  first,  when  this  mother  bird 
went  to  the  nest,  her  mate  stationed  himself  on 
the  nest  tree,  leaning  over  and  looking  down  anx- 
iously at  Billy  and  me  ;  but  before  their  home 
was  broken  up  the  watchful  guardian  fed  his 
pretty  mate  at  her  brooding  when  we  were  below. 

We  had  a  great  many  visitors  while  waiting 
for  the  wrens :  neighbors  came  to  sit  in  our 
green  shade,  young  housekeepers  came  looking  for 
rooms  to  rent,  and  old  birds  who  were  leading 
around  their  noisy  families  came  to  dine  with  us. 
Once  a  pair  of  flickers  started  to  light  in  the  tree, 
but  they  gave  a  glance  over  the  shoulder  at  me 
and  fled.  Later  I  found  their  secret  —  down  in- 
side an  old  charred  stump  up  the  canyon.  Occa- 
sionally I  got  sight  of  gay  liveries  in  the  green 
sycamore  tops.  A  Louisiana  tanager  in  his  coat 
of  many  colors  stopped  one  day,  and  another  time, 
when  looking  up  for  dull  green  vireos,  my  eye 
was  startled  by  a  flaming  golden  oriole.  The 
color  was  a  keen  pleasure.  Lazuli  buntings,  rel- 
atives of  our  eastern  indigo-bird,  sang  so  much 
within  hearing  that  I  felt  sure  they  were  nesting 
in  the  weeds  outside  the  line  of  sycamores  —  I 
did  find  a  pair  building  in  the  malvas  beyond  ;  a 


28  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

pair  of  bush-tits,  cousins  of  the  chickadees,  came 
with  one  of  their  big  families  ;  California  towhees 
often  appeared  sitting  quietly  on  the  branches  ; 
linnets  were  always  stopping  to  discuss  something 
in  their  emphatic  way ;  clamorous  blue  jays  rushed 
in  and  set  the  small  birds  in  a  panic,  but  seeing 
me  quickly  took  themselves  off ;  and  a  pair  of 
wary  woodpeckers  hunted  over  the  sycamore 
trunks  and  worked  so  cautiously  that  they  had 
finished  excavating  a  nest  only  just  out  of  my 
sight  on  the  other  side  of  the  wren  tree  trunk 
before  I  seriously  suspected  them  of  domestic 
intentions. 

One  day,  when  watching  at  the  tree,  a  great 
brown  and  black  lizard  that  the  children  of  the 
valley  call  the  '  Jerusalem  overtaker  '  came 
worming  down  the  side  of  an  oak  that  I  often 
leaned  against.  The  rough  bark  seemed  such  a 
help  to  it  that  I  imagined  the  wrens  had  done 
wisely  in  choosing  a  smooth  sycamore  to  build 
in.  I  looked  narrowly  at  their  nest  hole  with 
the  thought  in  mind  and  saw  that  the  birds  had 
another  point  of  vantage  in  the  way  the  trunk 
bulged  at  the  hole  —  it  did  not  seem  as  if  a  large 
lizard  could  work  itself  up  the  smooth  slippery 
rounding  surface,  however  much  given  to  eggs  for 
breakfast.  But  in  the  West  Indies  lizards  walk 
freely  up  and  down  the  marble  slabs,  so  it  is  dan- 
gerous to  say  what  they  cannot  do. 

Billy  had  a  surprise  one  day  greater  than  mine 


THE    LITTLE    LOVER.  29 

over  the  lizard.  He  was  grazing  quietly  near 
where  I  sat  under  the  wren  tree,  when  he  sud- 
denly threw  up  his  head.  His  ears  pointed  for- 
ward, his  eyes  grew  excited,  and  as  he  gazed  his 
head  rose  higher  and  higher.  I  jumped  from  the 
ground  and  put  my  hand  on  the  pommel  ready  to 
spring  into  the  saddle.  As  I  did  so,  across  the 
field  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  great  fawn-colored 
animal  with  a  white  tip  to  its  tail,  bounding 
through  the  brush  —  a  deer !  Then  I  heard 
voices  through  the  trees  and  saw  the  red  shawl 
of  a  woman  in  a  wagon  rumbling  up  the  road 
the  deer  must  have  crossed. 

When  Mountain  Billy  and  I  pulled  ourselves 
together  and  started  after  the  deer,  the  poor  horse 
was  so  unstrung  he  made  snakes  of  all  the  sticks 
he  saw  and  shied  at  all  imaginable  bugaboos  along 
the  way.  We  were  too  late  to  see  the  deer  again, 
but  found  the  marks  of  its  hoofs  where  it  had 
jumped  a  ditch  and  sunk  so  deep  in  the  fine  sand 
on  the  other  side  that  it  had  to  take  a  great  leap 
to  recover  itself. 

The  sight  of  the  deer  made  Billy  as  nervous  as 
a  witch  for  days.  Every  time  we  went  to  visit 
the  wrens  he  would  stand  with  eyes  glued  to  the 
spot  where  it  had  appeared,  and  when  a  jack-rab- 
bit came  out  of  the  brush  with  his  long  ears  up, 
Billy  started  as  if  he  thought  it  would  devour 
him.  I  was  perplexed  by  his  nervousness  at  first, 
but  after  much  pondering  reasoned  it  out,  to  my 


30  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

own  satisfaction  at  least.  His  name  was  Moun- 
tain Billy,  and  in  the  days  when  he  had  been  a 
wayward  bucking  mustang  he  lived  in  the  Sierra. 
Now,  even  in  the  hills  surrounding  our  valley, 
colts  were  killed  by  mountain  lions.  How  much 
more  in  the  Sierra.  Mountain  lions  are  large 
fawn-colored  animals  :  that  was  it  :  Mountain 
Billy  was  suffering  from  an  acute  attack  of  asso- 
ciation of  ideas.  The  sight  of  the  deer  had  awak- 
ened memories  of  the  nightmare  of  his  colthood 
days. 

We  made  frequent  visits  to  the  wren  tree,  and 
both  my  nervous  little  horse  and  I  had  a  start  one 
morning,  for  as  we  rode  in,  a  covey  of  quail  flew  up 
with  a  whirr  from  under  the  tree  in  front  of  us. 

When  the  wren  had  become  reconciled  to  us 
she  worked  rapidly,  flying  back  and  forth  with 
material,  followed  by  her  mate,  who  sang  while  she 
was  on  the  nest  and  chased  away  with  her  after- 
wards. Often  when  she  appeared  in  the  doorway 
ready  to  go,  his  song,  which  had  been  just  a  merry 
round  before,  at  sight  of  her  would  suddenly 
change  to  a  most  ecstatic  love  song.  He  would 
sit  with  drooping  tail,  his  wings  sometimes  shak- 
ing at  his  sides,  at  others  raised  till  they  almost 
met  over  his  back,  trembling  with  the  excitement 
of  his  joy.  This  peculiar  tremulous  motion  of  the 
wings  was  marked  in  both  wrens  ;  their  emotions 
seemed  too  large  for  their  small  bodies. 

I  found  the  wrens  building,  the  last  of  April. 


THE    LITTLE    LOVER.  31 

The  third  week  in  May  the  little  lover  was  sing- 
ing as  hard  as  ever.  I  wrote  in  my  note-book  — 
"Wrens  do  not  take  life  with  proper  serious- 
ness, their  duties  certainly  do  not  tie  them  down." 
When  the  eggs  were  in  the  nest,  if  her  mate  sang 
at  her  door,  the  mother  bird  would  fly  out  to  him 
and  away  they  would  go  together  ;  for  it  never 
seemed  to  occur  to  the  care-free  lover  that  he 
might  brood  the  eggs  in  her  absence. 

When  the  young  hatched,  however,  affairs  took 
a  more  serious  turn.  Mother  wren  at  least  was 
kept  busy  looking  for  spiders,  and  later,  when 
both  were  working  together,  if  not  hunting  among 
the  green  treetops,  the  pretty  little  brown  birds 
often  flew  to  the  ground  and  ran  about  under  the 
weeds  to  search  for  insects.  Once  when  the 
mother  bird  had  flown  up  with  her  bill  full,  she 
suddenly  stopped  at  the  twig  in  front  of  the  nest, 
looking  down,  her  tail  over  her  back  wren  fashion, 
the  sun  on  her  brown  sides,  and  her  bill  bristling 
with  spiders'  legs. 

On  June  7  I  noticed  a  remarkable  thing.  For 
more  than  five  weeks,  all  through  the  building 
and  brooding,  the  little  lover  had  been  acting  as 
if  on  his  honeymoon  —  as  if  the  nest  were  a  joke 
and  there  were  nothing  for  him  to  do  in  the  world 
but  sing  and  make  love  to  his  pretty'  mate  —  as 
if  life  were  all  '  a-courtinV  On  this  day  he  first 
came  to  the  tree  with  food,  sang  out  for  his  spouse, 
gave  her  the  morsel,  and  flew  off.  Later  in  the 


32 


A-BIRDING   ON  A   BRONCO. 


morning  he  brought  food  and  his  mate  carried  it  to 
the  young.  But  afterwards,  when  she  started  to 
take  a  morsel  from  him,  behold  !  he  —  the  gay,  friv- 
olous little  beau, 
the  minstrel  lover 
— actually  acted  as 
if  he  did  n't  want 
to  give  it  up,  as  if 
he  wanted  to  feed 
his  own  little  birds 
himself.  With 
wings  trembling  at 
his  sides  he  turned 
his  back  on  his 
mate  and  started 
to  walk  down  the 
branch  away  from 
her  !  But  he  was 
too  fond  of  her  to 
even  seem  to  refuse 
her  anything,  and 
so,  coming  back, 
gave  her  the  mor- 
sel. She  proba- 
bly divined  his 
thought,  and,  let 
us  hope,  was  glad 


A  Trying-  Moment. 


to  have  him  show  an  interest  in  his  children  at 
last ;  at  all  events,  when  he  came  again  with  food 
and  clung  to  the  tip  of  a  drooping  twig  waiting 


THE    LITTLE    LOVER.  33 

although  she  first  lit  above  him  and  came  down 
toward  him  with  bill  wide  open  and  wings  flutter- 
ing in  the  pretty,  helpless,  coquettish  way  female 
birds  often  tease  to  be  fed ;  suddenly,  as  if  re- 
membering, she  flew  off,  and  —  he  went  in  to  the 
nest  himself  !  It  was  a  conquest ;  the  little  lover 
was  not  altogether  lacking  in  the  paternal  in- 
stinct after  all  !  I  looked  at  him  with  new 
respect. 

On  June  12  I  wrote  :  "  The  wrens  seem  to  have 
settled  down  to  business."  It  was  delighful  to 
find  the  small  father  actually  taking  turns  feed- 
ing the  young.  I  saw  him  feed  his  mate  only 
once  or  twice,  and  noticed  much  less  of  the  quiver- 
ing wings,  though  after  leaving  the  nest  he  would 
sometimes  light  on  a  branch  and  move  them 
tremulously  at  his  sides  for  a  moment.  June  15  I 
wrote  :  "  The  birds  are  feeding  rapidly  to-day.  I 
hear  very  little  song  from  the  male  ;  probably  he 
has  all  he  can  attend  to.  I  'd  like  to  know  how 
many  young  ones  there  are  in  that  hole."  At 
all  events,  the  voices  of  the  young  were  getting 
stronger  and  more  insistent,  and  it  is  no  bagatelle 
to  keep  half  a  dozen  gaping  mouths  full  of  spiders, 
as  any  mother  bird  can  tell.  This  particular 
mother  wren,  however,  seemed  to  enjoy  her  cares. 
She  often  called  to  the  young  from  a  branch  in 
front  of  the  nest  before  going  in,  and  stopped  to 
call  back  to  them  with  a  motherly-sounding  krup- 
up-up  as  she  stood  in  the  entrance  on  leaving. 


34  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

One  day  as  one  of  the  old  birds  stood  in  the 
doorway  its  mate  flew  into  the  nest  right  over  its 
head.  The  astonished  doorkeeper  was  so  startled 
that  it  took  to  its  wings. 

Before  this,  in  watching  the  wrens,  I  had 
looked  off  across  a  sunny  field  of  golden  oats, 
against  the  background  of  blue  hills.  On  June 
14,  when  I  went  to  the  nest,  the  mowers  had  been 
at  work  around  the  sycamores  and  the  oat-field 
was  full  of  cocks.  Just  as  the  wren  was  most 
anxious  for  peace  and  quietness,  for  a  safe  world 
into  which  to  launch  her  brood,  up  came  this  rout 
of  haymakers  with  all  their  clattering  machines, 
laying  low  the  meadows  to  her  very  door. 

No  wonder  the  little  bird  met  me  with  nerves 
on  edge.  When  the  eggs  had  first  hatched,  she 
had  objected  to  me,  but  mildly.  To  be  sure,  once 
when  she  found  me  staring  she  flew  away  over  my 
head,  scolding  as  much  as  to  say,  "  Stop  looking 
at  my  little  birds,"  and  finding  me  there  when 
she  came  back,  shook  her  wings  at  her  sides  and 
scolded  hard,  though  her  bill  was  full ;  but  still 
her  disapproval  did  not  trouble  me;  it  was  too 
sociable.  But  now,  for  some  time,  affected  by 
the  shadow  of  coming  events,  she  had  been  grow- 
ing more  and  more  fidgety  under  my  gaze,  darting 
inside,  then  whisking  back  to  the  door  to  look  at 
me,  in  again  to  her  brood  and  out  to  me,  over  and 
over  like  a  flash  —  or,  like  a  poor  little  troubled 
mother  wren,  distracted  lest  her  unruly  youngsters 


THE    LITTLE    LOVER.  35 

should  pop  out  of  the  hole  in  the  tree  trunk  when 
I  was  below  to  catch  them. 

On  this  day,  when  the  wren  came  up  from  the 
dark  nest  pocket  and  found  me  below,  she  called 
back  to  her  little  ones  in  such  distress  that  I  felt 
reproached.  By  gazing  fixedly  through  my  glass 
into  the  dark  hole  I  could  see  the  head  of  a 
sprightly  nestling  pop  up  and  turn  alertly  from 
side  to  side  as  if  returning  my  inspection.  The 
old  wren's  calls  made  me  think  of  a  human  mo- 
ther who  can  no  longer  control  her  big  wayward 
offspring  and  has  to  entreat  them  to  do  as  she 
bids.  It  was  as  if  she  said,  "  Oh,  do  be  good  chil- 
dren, do  keep  still ;  do  put  your  heads  back ;  you 
naughty  children,  you  must  do  as  I  tell  you !  " 

On  June  16,  six  weeks  after  I  had  found  the 
birds  building,  I  wrote  in  my  note-book :  "  I  am 
astonished  every  morning  when  I  come  and  find 
the  wrens  still  here,  but  perhaps  it 's  easier  feeding 
them  in  one  spot  than  it  would  be  chasing  around 
after  them  in  half  a  dozen  different  places." 

The  young  were  chattering  inside  the  nest. 
They  all  talked  at  once  as  children  will,  but  one 
small  voice  assumed  the  tones  of  the  mother ; 
probably  the  oldest  brother  speaking  with  the  air 
of  authority  f  eatherless  children  sometimes  assume 
with  the  weaker  members  of  the  family.  When  a 
parent  came,  I  saw  the  big  brother's  head  pop  up 
from  behind  the  wall,  —  the  nest  was  in  a  pocket 
below,  —  and  by  the  time  the  old  bird  got  there 


36  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

with  food  the  big  throat  blocked  the  way  for  the 
little  ones  down  behind.  Sometimes  I  could  see 
a  flutter  of  small  wings  and  tails  when  the  birds 
were  being  fed. 

As  nothing  happened,  I  went  off  to  watch  an- 
other nest,  but  in  an  hour  was  back  to  make  sure 
of  seeing  the  small  wrens  when  they  left  the 
nest.  A  loud  continuous  scolding  met  me  on  ap- 
proaching, and  one  of  the  old  wrens,  with  bill  full 
of  insects,  flew  —  not  up  to  the  nest  —  but  down 
in  among  the  weeds  !  In  less  than  an  hour  that 
whole  brood  of  wrens  had  flown,  and  were  three 
or  four  rods  away  in  the  high  weeds  —  safe  !  I 
was  taken  aback.  They  had  stolen  a  march  on 
me.  Surely  I  had  not  been  treated  as  was  fit 
and  proper,  being  one  of  the  family ! 

It  was  amusing  to  see  the  young  ones  fly.  They 
whirled  away  on  their  wings  as  if  they  had  been 
flitting  around  in  the  big  world  always ;  but  their 
stubby  tails  sadly  interfered  with  their  progress, 
and  they  came  to  earth  before  they  meant. 

Weak  cries  came  from  the  young  hidden  in  the 
weeds.  They  could  fly,  but  it  was  different  from 
being  safe  inside  a  tree  trunk !  I  hardly  recog- 
nized their  weak  appealing  voices,  after  the  sten- 
torian tones  that  had  issued  from  the  old  nest. 

The  weeds  were  a  mos^;  admirable  cover,  and 
the  dead  stalks  sticking  up  through  them  served 
as  sentry  posts,  from  which  the  old  birds  scolded 
me  when  I  followed  too  close  on  their  heels.  The 


THE    LITTLE    LOVER.  37 

youngsters  sometimes  appeared  on  the  stalks,  and 
looked  very  pert  on  their  long  legs  with  their 
short  tails  cocked  over  their  backs. 

In  the  afternoon  I  went  again  to  see  the  little 
family  to  which  I  had  become  so  much  attached 
and  which  were  now  slipping  away  from  me. 
They  had  been  led  farther  up  the  canyon,  where, 
at  a  turn  in  the  dry  bed  of  the  stream,  the  thick 
cover  of  weeds  was  still  more  protected  by  brush 
and  overhanging  trees,  and  the  whole  thicket 
was  warmed  by  the  afternoon  sunshine.  The  old 
birds  were  busily  flying  back  and  forth  feeding 
their  invisible  young.  They  scolded  me  as  they 
flew  past,  but  kept  right  on  with  their  work. 

There  was  little  use  trying  to  keep  track  of  the 
brood  after  that,  and  I  thought  I  had  given  them 
up  quite  philosophically,  reflecting  that  it  was 
pleasant  to  leave  them  in  such  a  sunny  protected 
place.  Still,  day  after  day  in  riding  along  the 
line  of  sycamores  on  my  way  to  other  nests,  it 
gave  me  a  pang  of  loneliness  to  pass  the  old  de- 
serted wren  tree  where  I  had  spent  so  many  happy 
hours ;  and  though  the  sycamores  were  silent,  I 
could  always  hear  and  see  the  little  lover  singing 
to  his  pretty  mate. 


III. 

LIKE   A   THIEF   IN   THE   NIGHT. 

WHEN  watching  the  little  lover  and  his  brood, 
I  heard  familiar  voices  farther  down  the  line  of 
oaks,  voices  of-  little  friends  I  had  made  on  my 
first  visit  to  California,  and  had  always  remem- 
bered with  lively  interest  as  the  jauntiest,  most 
individual  bits  of  humanity  I  had  ever  known  in 
feathers.  So,  when  Mountain  Billy  and  I  could 
be  spared  by  the  other  bird  families  we  were 
watching,  we  set  out  to  hunt  up  the  little  bluish 
gray  western  gnatcatchers. 

The  (sand)  stream  that  widened  under  the 
wren's  sycamores  narrowed  up  the  canyon  to  a  — 
dry  ditch,  I  should  say,  if  it  were  not  disrespect- 
ful to  speak  that  way  of  a  channel  that  once  a  year 
carries  a  torrent  which  excavates  canals  in  the 
meadows.  Billy  and  I  started  up  this  sand  ditch, 
so  narrow  between  its  weed-grown  banks  that 
there  was  barely  room  for  us,  and  so  arched  over 
in  places  by  chaparral  that  we  could  get  through 
only  when  Billy  put  dtiwn  his  ears  and  I  bowed 
low  on  the  saddle. 

We  had  not  gone  far  before  we  heard  the  gnat- 
catchers,  bluish  gray  mites  with  heads  that  are 


LIKE    A    THIEF   IN    THE    NIGHT.        39 


Nest  of  Western  Gnatcatcher. 
(From  a  photograph.) 

always  cocked  on  one  side  or  the  other  to  look 
down  at  something,  and  long  tails  that  are  always 
flipping  about  as  their  owners  flaunt  gayly  through 
the  bushes.  At  sound  of  their  voices  I  pulled 
Billy  up  out  of  the  ditch,  and,  slipping  from  his 
back,  sat  down  on  the  ground  to  wait  for  the 
birds.  Eureka!  there,  in  a  slender  young  oak 
on  the  edge  of  the  stream  not  a  rod  away,  one  of 
the  pair  was  gliding  off  its  nest,  a  beautiful  lichen- 
covered,  compact  little  structure  such  as  I  had 
admired  years  before.  I  was  jubilant. 


£ 


0? 


40  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

relief !  I  had  fully  expected  it  to  be  inside  the 
dense  brush,  where  no  mortal  could  tell  what  was 
going  on ;  and  here  it  was  out  in  the  plain  light 
of  day.  What  a  delightful  time  I  should  have 
watching  it!  Before  leaving  the  spot,  in  im- 
agination I  had  followed  the  brood  out  into  the 
world  and  filled  a  note-book  with  the  quaint  airs 
and  graces  of  the  piquant  pair. 

When  insinuating  yourself  into  the  secrets  of 
the  bird  world,  it  is  not  well  to  be  too  obtrusive 
at  first :  it  is  a  mistake  to  spend  the  day  when 
you  make  your  first  call ;  so  contenting  myself 
with  thinking  of  the  morrow,  and  fixing  the  small 
oak  in  my  memory,  I  took  myself  off  before  the 
blue-gray  should  tell  on  me  to  her  mate.  As  I 
rose  to  go,  a  dove  flew  out  of  the  oak  —  she  had 
been  brooding  right  over  my  head.  Another  nest, 
and  a  mourning  dove's,  one  of  the  most  gentle  and 
winning  of  birds !  Surely  my  good  star  was  in 
the  ascendent ! 

The  next  day,  forgetful  of  this  second  nest,  I 
rode  Billy  right  up  under  the  oak,  and  was  star- 
tled to  find  the  pretty  dove  sitting  quietly  over 
our  heads,  looking  down  at  us  out  of  her  gentle 
eyes.  It  was  a  pleasant  surprise.  She  let  me 
talk  to  her,  but  when  I  had  dismounted  Billy 
tramped  around  so  uneasily  that^e  saddle  caught 
in  the  oak  branches  and  scared  the  poor  bird 
away.  I  had  hardly  seated  myself  when  the  jaunty 
little  gnatcatcher  came  flying  over  and  lit  in  an 


LIKE    A     THIEF   IN    THE    NIGHT.        41 

upper  branch  of  the  tree.  What  a  contrast  she 
was  to  the  quiet  dove  !  With  many  flirts  of  the 
tail  she  hopped  down  to  the  nest,  jumping  from 
branch  to  branch  as  if  tripping  down  a  pair  of 
stairs.  When  she  dropped  into  her  deep  cup 
her  small  head  stuck  up  over  one  edge,  her  long 
tail  pointed  over  the  other.1 

I  looked  away  a  moment,  and  on  glancing  back 
found  the  nest  empty.  On  the  instant,  however, 
came  the  sound  of  my  small  friend's  voice.  Such 
a  talkative  little  person  !  —  not  one  of  your  creep- 
in-and-out-of-the-nest-without-anybody's  -  knowing- 
it  kind  of  a  bird,  not  she  !  Her  remarks  sounded 
as  if  made  over  my  head,  and  when  Billy  stamped 
about  the  brush  and  rapped  the  saddle  trying  to 
switch  off  flies,  I  imagined  guiltily  that  they  were 
addressed  to  me  ;  but  while  I  wondered  if  she 
would  keep  away  all  the  rest  of  the  morning  be- 
cause she  had  discovered  me,  back  she  came,  talk- 
ing to  herself  in  complaining  tones  and  whipping 
her  tail  impatiently,  even  after  she  stood  on  the 
edge  of  the  nest,  evidently  absorbed  in  her  own 
affairs,  quite  to  the  exclusion  of  the  person  down 
in  the  brush  who  thought  herself  so  important ! 

My  doves  were  attending  to  me,  however,  alto- 
gether too  much.  The  brooding  bird  was  anxious 
to  go  to  her  nest.  After  flying  out  where  she 

1  As  this  little  pair  dressed  like  twins,  I  could  only  infer 
which  was  which  from  the  song  and  the  actions  of  the  two, 
which  were  quite  distinct. 


42  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

could  see  me,  she  whizzed  toward  it ;  but,  fear- 
ful, hesitated  and  talked  it  over  with  her  mate 
—  both  birds  cooed  with  inflated  breaths.  After 
that  the  branches  rattled  overhead,  but  even  then, 
though  my  back  was  turned,  the  timid  bird  dared 
not  stay.  She  must  make  another  inspection. 
From  an  opposite  oak  she  peered  through  the 
branches,  moving  her  head  excitedly,  and  calling 
out  her  impressions  to  her  mate.  Meanwhile,  he 
had  flown  down  the  sand  stream  and  called  back 
quite  calmly.  I,  also,  cooed  reassuringly  to  her, 
and  soon  she  quieted  down  and  began  to  plume  her 
feathers  on  the  sunny  branch.  As  the  gnatcatch- 
ers  did  not  honor  us  with  their  attention  even 
when  Billy  stalked  around  in  plain  sight,  I  moved 
a  little  closer  to  their  nest  to  give  the  dove  more 
freedom ;  and  soon  the  gentle  bird  slipped  back 
to  her  brooding. 

Before  leaving  I  went  to  see  the  dove  in  the 
oak,  and  spoke  caressingly  to  her,  admiring  her 
soft  dove-colored  feathers  and  shining  iridescent 
neck.  She.  was  on  her  own  ground  there,  and  felt 
that  she  could  safely  be  friends,  so  she  only 
winked  in  the  sun,  paying  no  heed  to  her  mate 
when  he  called  warningly.  It  was  especially 
pleasant  to  watch  this  reserved  lady-like  bird, 
after  the  flippant  tell-all-you-know  little  gnat. 

On  going  away,  Billy  and  I  took  a  run  up  the 
canyon.  Billy  was  in  high  spirits,  and  went 
racing  up  the  narrow  road,  winding  and  turning 


LIKE    A    THIEF   IN    THE    NIGHT.        43 

through  the  chaparral,  brushing  me  against  the 
the  stiff  scrub  oak  and  loping  under  low  branches 
so  fast  that  the  sharp  leaves  snapped  back,  sting- 
ing my  cheeks.  We  had  a  gay  ride,  with  a  spice 
of  excitement  thrown  in  ;  for  on  our  way  home,  in 
the  thick  dust  across  our  path,  besides  the  pretty 
quail  tracks  that  made  wall-paper  patterns  on  the 
road,  were  the  straight  trails  of  gopher  snakes, 
and  the  scalloped  one  of  a  rattlesnake  we  had 
been  just  too  late  to  meet. 

At  our  next  session  with  the  blue-grays,  when 
she  was  on  the  nest,  her  mate  came  back  to  re- 
lieve her  and  cried  in  his  quick  cheerful  way, 
"  Here  I  am,  here  I  am  !  "  Either  she  was  tak- 
ing a  nap  or  did  n't  want  to  stir,  for  she  did  n't 
budge  till  he  called  insistently,  "  Here  I  am,  here 
I  am !  "  Then  he  hopped  down  in  her  place,  and 
raising  his  head  above  the  nest,  remarked  again, 
as  if  commenting  upon  the  new  situation,  "  Here 
I  am ! " 

It  was  quite  a  different  matter  when  she  came 
back  to  work.  She  only  called  "  hello,"  not  even 
hinting  that  he  should  make  way  for  her,  but  he 
hopped  off  at  the  first  sound  of  her  voice,  flying 
away  promptly  to  another  tree  and  calling  back 
like  a  gleeful  boy  let  out  of  school,  "  Here  I  am  !  " 

She  was  no  more  eager  to  go  to  the  nest  than 
he,  however,  and  once  when  she  came  flirting 
leisurely  along  from  twig  to  twig,  she  stopped  a 
long  time  on  the  edge  of  the  nest  and  leaned 


44  'A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

over,  presumably  to  arrange  the  eggs  ;  perhaps 
she  and  her  mate  had  different  views  as  to  their 
proper  positions.  The  next  time  I  visited  the 
gnats,  she  acted  as  if  she  really  could  not  make 
up  her  mind  to  settle  down  to  brooding  on  such  a 
beautiful  morning.  The  fog  had  cleared  away 
and  the  air  was  fresh  and  full  of  life ;  goldfinches 
and  lazuli  buntings  were  singing  merrily,  and 
light-hearted  vireos  were  shouting  chick-a-de- 
ckickf-de-villet'  from  the  brush.  How  much  pleas- 
anter  it  would  be  for  such  an  airy  fairy  to  go  off 
for  a  race  with  her  mate  than  to  settle  down  de- 
murely tucked  into  a  cup !  "  Tsang,"  she  cried 
impatiently  as  she  flew  up  to  catch  a  fly.  She 
flirted  about  the  branches,  whipped  up  in  front  of 
the  nest,  could  n't  make  up  her  mind  to  go  in, 
and  flounced  off  again.  But  the  eggs  would  get 
cold  if  she  did  n't  cover  them,  so  back  she  came, 
hopped  up  on  the  edge  of  the  nest,  and  stood 
twisting  and  turning,  glancing  this  way  and  that 
as  though  for  a  fly  to  chase,  till  she  happened  to 
look  down  at  the  eggs ;  then  she  whipped  her 
tail,  dropped  in  and  —  jumped  out  again ! 

During  the  morning  when  she  was  away  and 
her  mate  was  waiting  for  her  to  come  back  to 
'  spell '  him,  he  too  got  impatient.  He  hopped 
out  of  the  nest  crying,  "  Now  here  I  am,  quick, 
come  quick  !  "  and  as  he  flew  off,  sang  out  in  his 
funny  little  soliloquizing  way,  "  Well,  here  I  go  ; 
here  I  go !  " 


LIKE    A    THIEF   IN    THE    NIGHT.        45 

His  restless  spouse  had  only  just  settled  down 
when  a  wren-tit  —  a  wren-like  bird  with  a  long 
tail  —  flew  into  a  bush  near  her  oak,  and  she 
darted  out  of  the  nest  to  snap  her  bill  over  his 
head.  I  thought  it  merely  an  excuse  to  leave 
her  brooding.  Calling  out  "  tsang,"  she  again 
flew  at  the  brown  bird  who  was  hopping  around 
in  the  bush,  so  innocently,  as  I  thought.  Con- 
queror for  the  moment,  she  flaunted  back  to  the 
nest,  and  after  much  ado  finally  settled  down. 

For  a  time  all  was  quiet.  Hearing  the  low 
cooing  of  doves,  I  went  to  talk  to  the  pretty  bird 
in  the  oak,  and  she  let  me  come  near  enough  to 
see  her  bluish  bill  and  quiet  eyes.  As  I  returned 
to  the  gnatcatchers,  a  chewink  was  hoeing  in  the 
sand  stream.  Again  the  wren-tit  approached 
stealthily.  I  watched  with  languid  interest  till  he 
got  to  the  gnat's  tree.  The  instant  he  touched 
foot  upon  her  domain,  she  dashed  down  at  him, 
crying  loudly  and  snapping  her  bill  in  his  face. 
The  brown  bird  dodged  her  blows,  held  his  foot- 
ing in  spite  of  her,  and  slowly  made  his  way  up 
to  the  nest.  I  was  astonished  and  frightened. 
He  leaned  over  the  nest,  and  —  what  he  actually 
did  I  could  not  see,  for  by  that  time  the  blue- 
gray's  cries  had  called  her  mate  and  they  were 
both  screaming  and  diving  down  at  him  as  if  they 
would  peck  his  eyes  out;  and  it  sounded  as  if 
they  hit  him  on  the  back  good  and  hard. 

A  peaceful  lazuli  bunting,  hearing  the  commo- 


46  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

tion,  came  to  investigate,  but  when  she  saw  what 
was  happening  held  back  against  the  side  of  a 
twig  as  though  afraid  of  getting  struck,  and  soon 
flew  off,  having  no  desire  to  get  mixed  up  in  that 
affray. 

When  the  wren-tit  had  at  last  been  driven  from 
his  position,  the  gnatcatchers  flew  up  into  a  tree 
and,  standing  near  together,  talked  the  matter 
over  excitedly.  Then  one  of  them  went  back  to 
the  nest,  reached  down  into  it  and  brought  up 
something  that  it  appeared  to  be  eating.  Its  mate 
went  to  the  nest  and  did  the  same,  after  which 
one  of  them  flew  away  with  a  broken  eggshell. 
When  the  little  creatures  turned  away  from  the 
plundered  nest  they  broke  out  into  cries  of  dis- 
tress that  were  pitiful  to  hear.  I  felt  indignant 
at  the  wren-tit.  How  could  a  bird  with  eggs  of 
its  own  do  such  a  cruel  thing  ?  But  then,  I  re- 
flected, we  who  pretend  to  be  better  folks  than 
wren-tits  do  not  always  spare  our  neighbors  be- 
cause of  our  own  troubles.  When  the  poor  birds 
had  carried  away  their  broken  eggshell,  one  of 
them  came  and  tugged  at  the  nest  lining  till  it 
pulled  out  a  long  horse-hair  arid  what  looked  like 
a  feather,  apparently  trying  to  take  out  every- 
thing that  the  egg  had  soiled. 

When  the  little  housekeeper  wras  working  over 
her  nest,  a  brown  towhee  flew  into  the  tree.  On 
the  instant  there  was  a  flash  of  wings  —  the  gnat 
was  ready  for  war.  But  after  a  fair  look  at  the 


LIKE    A    THIEF   IN    THE    NIGHT.        47 

big  peaceful  bird,  she  flew  to  the  next  tree  with- 
out a  word  —  she  evidently  knew  friends  from 
enemies.  I  never  liked  the  towhee  so  well  before. 
But  though  the  blue-gray  had  nothing  to  say 
against  her  neighbor  sitting  up  in  the  tree  if  he 
chose,  her  nerves  were  so  unstrung  that  when  she 
lit  in  the  next  tree  she  cried  out  "tsang"  in  an 
overburdened  tone.  It  sounded  so  unlike  the 
usual  cry  of  the  light-hearted  bird,  it  quite  made 
me  sad. 

Whether  the  poor  little  gnatcatchers  did  not 
recover  from  this  attack  upon  their  home,  and  took 
their  nest  to  pieces  to  put  it  up  elsewhere,  as  birds 
sometimes  do ;  or  whether  the  stealthy  wren-tit 
again  crept  in  like  a  thief  in  the  night  to  plunder 
his  neighbor's  house,  I  do  not  know ;  but  the  next 
time  I  went  to  the  oak  the  nest  was  demolished. 
It  was  a  sorry  ending  for  what  had  promised  to 
be  such  an  interesting  and  happy  home. 

My  poor  dove's  nest  had  a  tragic  end,  too. 
What  happened  I  do  not  know,  but  one  day  the 
body  of  a  poor  little  pigeon  lay  on  the  ground 
under  the  nest.  My  sympathies  went  out  to  both 
mothers,  but  especially  to  the  gentle  dove,  now  a 
mourner,  indeed. 


IV. 

WAS    IT    A    SEQUEL  ? 

AFTER  the  wren-tit  stole  in  like  a  thief  in  the 
night  and  broke  up  the  pretty  home  of  the  gnat- 
catchers,  I  suspected  that  they  took  their  house 
down  to  put  it  up  again  in  a  safer  place,  .and  so 
was  constantly  on  the  lookout  to  find  where  that 
safer  place  was.  At  last,  one  day,  I  heard  the 
welcome  sound  of  their  familiar  voices,  and  fol- 
lowing their  calls  finally  discovered  them  flying 
back  and  forth  to  a  high  branch  on  an  old  oak- 
tree  ;  both  little  birds  working  and  talking  to- 
gether. Mind,  I  do  not  stake  my  word  on  this 
being  the  same  pair  of  gnats  ;  but  the  nest  fol- 
lowed closely  on  the  heels  of  the  plundered  one, 
which  was  a  point  in  its  favor,  and,  being  anx- 
ious to  take  up  the  lines  with  my  small  friends 
again,  I  let  myself  think  they  were  the  birds 
of  the  sand  ditch  nest.  It  was  such  a  delight  to 
find  them  that  I  deserted  the  nest  I  had  been 
watching,  and  went  to  spend  the  next  morning 
with  my  old  friends.  The  tree  they  had  chosen 
was  a  high  oak  in  an  open  space  in  the  brush, 
and  they  were  building  fifteen  or  twenty  feet 
above  the  ground  —  so  high  that  it  was  necessary 


WAS    IT   A    SEQUEL?  49 

to  keep  an  opera-glass  focused  on  the  spot  to  see 
what  was  going  on  at  their  small  cup. 

As  the  birds  worked,  I  was  filled  with  forebod- 
ings by  seeing  a  pair  of  wren-tits  on  the  premises. 
They  went  about  in  the  casual  indifferent  way 
sad  experience  had  shown  might  cover  a  multi- 
tude of  evil  intentions,  and  which  made  me  sus- 
pect and  resent  their  presence.  How  had  they 
found  the  poor  little  gnats  ?  It  was  not  hard  to 
tell.  How  could  they  help  finding  such  talkative 
fly-abouts  ?  But  if  birds  are  in  danger  from  all 
the  world,  including  those  who  should  be  their 
comrades  and  champions,  why  should  not  build- 
ers keep  as  still  at  the  nest  as  brooding  birds, 
instead  of  heedlessly  giving  information  to  ob- 
servers that  lurk  about  taking  notes  for  future 
misdeeds?  But  then,  could  gnatcatchers  keep 
still  anywhere  at  any  time  ?  No,  that  was  not  to 
be  hoped  for.  I  could  only  watch  the  little  chat- 
terers from  hour  to  hour  and  be  thankful  for 
every  day  that  their  home  was  unmolested. 

It  was  interesting  to  see  how  the  jaunty  indif- 
ferent gnats  would  act  when  settling  down  to 
plain  matters  of  business.  Strange  to  say,  they 
proved  to  be  the  most  energetic,  tireless,  and 
skillful  of  builders.  Their  floor  had  been  laid  - 
on  the  branch  —  before  I  arrived  on  the  scene, 
and  they  were  at  work  on  the  walls.  The  plan 
seemed  to  be  twofold,  to  make  the  walls  compact 
and  strong  by  using  only  fine  bits  of  material  and 


50  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

packing  them  tightly  in  together;  while  at  the 
same  time  they  gave  form  to  the  nest  and  kept 
it  trim  and  shipshape  by  moulding  inside,  and 
smoothing  the  rim  and  outside  with  neck  and  bill. 
Sometimes  the  bird  would  smooth  the  brim  as  a 
person  sharpens  a  knife  on  a  whetstone,  a  stroke 
one  way  and  then  a  stroke  the  other.  When  the 
sides  were  not  much  above  the  floor,  one  bird 
came  with  a  bit  of  material  which  it  proceeded  to 
drill  into  the  body  of  the  wall.  It  leaned  over 
and  threw  its  whole  weight  on  it,  almost  going 
head  first  out  of  the  nest,  and  had  to  flutter  its 
wings  to  recover  itself.  The  birds  usually  got  in- 
side to  build,  but  there  was  a  twig  beside  the  nest 
that  served  for  scaffolding,  and  they  sometimes 
stood  on  that  to  work  at  the  outside. 

At  first  they  seemed  to  take  turns  at  building, 
working  rapidly  and  changing  places  quite  regu- 
larly ;  but  one  morning  when  seated  under  the 
oak  I  saw  that  things  were  not  as  they  had  been. 
Perhaps  a  difference  of  opinion  had  arisen  on 
architectural  points,  and  Mrs.  Gnatcatcher  had 
taken  matters  into  her  own  hands.  At  all  events, 
this  is  what  happened  :  instead  of  rapid  changes 
of  place,  when  one  of  the  gnats  was  at  work  its 
mate  flew  up  and  started  to  go  to  the  nest,  hesi- 
tated, and  backed  away ;  then  unwilling  to  give 
up  having  a  finger  in  the  pie,  advanced  again. 
This  was  kept  up  till  the  little  bird  put  its  pride 
in  its  pocket,  and  gently  gave  over  its  cherished 
bit  of  material  to  its  mate  at  the  nest ! 


WAS    IT   A    SEQUEL?  51 

Now  as  these  gnatcatchers  had  the  bad  taste  to 
dress  so  nearly  alike  that  I  could  not  tell  them 
apart,  I  was  left  to  my  own  surmises  as  to  which 
took  the  material.  Still,  who  could  it  have  been 
but  Mrs.  Gnat  ?  Would  she  give  over  the  house 
to  Mr.  Gnat  at  this  critical  moment  ?  She  doubt- 
less wanted  to  decorate  as  she  went  along,  and 
men  are  n't  supposed  to  know  anything  about 
such  trivial  matters  !  On  the  other  hand,  it  might 
easily  be  he,  for,  supposing  he  had  come  of  a  fam- 
ily of  superior  builders,  surely  he  would  want  to 
see  to  the  laying  of  substantial  walls  ;  and  un- 
questionably a  good  wall  was  the  important  part 
of  this  nest.  Alas  !  it  was  a  clear  case  of  "  The 
Lady  or  the  Tiger."  To  complicate  matters,  the 
birds  worked  so  fast,  so  high  over  my  head,  and 
so  hidden  by  the  leaves,  that  I  had  much  ado  to 
keep  track  of  their  exchanges  at  all.  If  I  could 
only  catch  them  and  tie  a  pink  ribbon  around  one 
of  their  necks  !  —  then,  at  least,  I  would  know 
which  was  doing  what,  or  if  it  was  doing  what  it 
had  n't  done  before  !  It  is  inconsiderate  enough 
of  birds  to  wear  the  same  kind  of  clothes,  but  to 
talk  alike  too,  -when  hidden  by  the  leaves  — that, 
indeed,  is  a  straw  to  break  the  camel's  back.  If 
small  gray  gnatcatchers  up  in  the  treetops  had 
only  been  big  black  magpies  low  in  the  brush,  my 
testimony  regarding  their  performances  might  be 
of  more  value  ;  but  then,  the  magpies  of  my  ac- 
quaintance were  so  shy  they  would  have  none  of 


52  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

me  ;  so  although  life  and  field  work  are  full  of  dis- 
appointments, they  are  also  full  of  compensations. 

Not  being  able  to  do  anything  better  with  the 
gnat  problems,  I  guessed  at  which  was  which  — 
when  I  saw  No.  2  go  to  the  nest  and  No.  1  reluc- 
tantly make  way  as  if  not  wanting  No.  2  to  meddle, 
I  drew  my  own  conclusions,  although  they  were 
not  scientifically  final.  I  did  see  one  thing  that 
was  satisfactory,  as  far  as  it  went.  One  of  the 
birds  came  with  big  tufts  of  stiff  moss  sticking  out 
from  either  side  of  its  bill  like  great  mustachios, 
and  going  up  to  the  nest,  handed  them  to  its  mate 
—  actually  something  big  enough  for  a  person  to 
see,  once!  Whatever  had  been  the  birds'  first 
feeling  as  to  which  should  put  the  bricks  in  the 
wall,  it  was  all  settled  now,  and  the  little  helpmate 
flew  off  singing  out  such  a  happy  good-by  it  made 
one  feel  like  writing  a  sermon  on  the  moral  effect 
of  renunciation.  After  that  I  wras  sure  the  little 
helper  fed  his  (?)  mate  on  the  nest,  again  singing 
out  good-by  as  he  flitted  away.  Once  when  he  (?) 
brought  material  he  found  her  (?)  busy  with  what 
she  had,  and  so  went  to  the  other  end  of  the 
branch,  and  waited  till  she  was  ready  for  it,  when 
he  flew  back  and  gave  it  to  her. 

It  was  a  real  delight  to  watch  the  little  bliie- 
grays  at  their  work.  Once  as  one  of  them  started 
to  fly  away  —  I  am  sure  this  was  she  —  she  sud- 
denly stopped  to  look  back  at  the  nest  as  if  to 
think  what  she  wanted  to  get  next ;  or,  perhaps, 


WAS    IT   A    SEQUEL? 

just  to  get  the  effect  of  her  work  at  a  distance, 
as  an  artist  walks  away  from  his  painting ;  or  as 
any  mother  bird  would  stop  to  admire  the  pretty 
nest  that  was  to  hold  her  little  brood.  Another 
time  one  of  the  gnats,  —  I  was  sure  this  was  he,  — 
having  driven  off  an  enemy,  flipped  his  tail  by  the 
nest  with  a  paternal  air  of  satisfaction.  The  birds 
made  one  especially  pretty  picture  ;  the  little  pair 
stood  facing  each  other  close  to  the  nest,  and  the 
sun,  filtering  through  the  green  leaves  over  their 
heads,  touched  them  gently  as  they  lingered  near 
their  home. 

One  morning  when  a  gnat  was  in  the  nest  a 
leaf  blew  down  past  it,  startling  it  so  it  hopped 
out  in  such  a  hurry  that  the  first  I  knew  it  was 
seated  beneath  the  nest,  flashing  its  tail. 

Back  and  forth  the  dainty  pair  flew  across  the 
space  of  blue  sky  between  the  oak  and  the  brush. 
They  went  so  fast  and  carried  so  little  it  seemed 
as  if  they  might  have  made  their  heads  save  their 
heels  —  they  brought  so  little  I  could  n't  see  that 
they  brought  anything ;  but  I  feel  delicate  about 
telling  what  I  know  about  nest-making,  and  it 
may  be  that  this  was  just  the  secret  of  the  won- 
derfully compact  solid  walls  of  the  nest ;  a  little 
at  a  time,  and  that  drilled  in  to  stay. 

When  one  of  the  small  builders  flew  down  near 
me  —  within  two  yards  —  for  material,  I  felt 
greatly  pleased  and  flattered.  Her  mate  warned 
her,  but  she  paid  no  particular  attention  to  him, 


54  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

and  with  jaunty  twists  and  turns  hopped  about  on 
the  dead  limbs,  giving  hurried  jabs  at  the  cob- 
webs she  was  gathering.  Once  she  rubbed  her 
little  cheek  against  a  twig  as  if  a  thread  of  the 
cobweb  had  gotten  in  her  eye.  She  dashed  in 
among  the  dead  leaves  after  something,  but  flew 
back  with  a  start  as  if  she  had  seen  a  ghost.  She 
was  not  to  be  daunted,  however,  and  after  whip- 
ping her  tail  and  peering  in  for  a  moment,  hopped 
bravely  down  again.  Sometimes,  when  collecting 
cobweb,  the  gnat  would  whip  its  tail  and  snap 
its  bill  snip,  snip,  snip,  as  if  cutting  the  web  with 
a  pair  of  scissors. 

I  was  amused  one  day  by  seeing  a  gnat  fly  down 
from  the  oak  to  the  brush  with  what  looked  like  a 
long  brown  caterpillar.  The  worm  dangling  from 
the  tip  of  his  beak  was  almost  as  large  as  the 
bird,  and  the  little  fellow  had  to  crook  his  tail  to 
keep  from  being  overbalanced  and  going  on  his 
bill  to  the  ground. 

As  the  nest  went  up,  the  leaves  hid  it ;  but  I 
could  still  see  the  small  wings  and  tails  flip  up 
in  the  air  over  the  edge  of  the  cup  and  jerk  about 
as  the  bird  moulded.  I  watched  the  workers  so 
long  that  I  felt  quite  competent  to  build  a  nest 
myself,  till  happening  to  remember  that  it  re- 
quired gnatcatcher  tools. 

Ornithologists  are  discouraging  people  to  wait 
for,  and  Mountain  Billy  got  so  restless  under  the 
gnat  tree  that  he  had  to  invent  a  new  fly-brush 


WAS    IT   A    SEQUEL  ?  55 

for  himself.  On  one  side  of  the  oak  the  branches 
hung  low  to  the  ground,  and  he  pushed  into  the 
tangle  till  the  green  boughs  rested  on  his  back 
and  he  was  almost  hidden  from  view.  Meanwhile 
I  sat  close  beside  the  chaparral  wall,  where  all 
sorts  of  sounds  were  to  be  heard,  suggestive  of 
the  industries  of  the  population  hidden  within  the 
brush  at  my  back.  Hearing  small  footsteps,  I 
peered  in  through  the  brown  twigs,  and  to  my 
delight  saw  a  pair  of  stately  quail  walking  over 
the  ground,  promenading  through  the  brush  ave- 
nues. Afterwards  I  caught  sight  of  a  gray  ani- 
mal, probably  a  wood  rat,  running  down  a  branch 
behind  me,  and  heard  queer  muffled  sounds  of 
gnawing. 

Suddenly,  looking  back,  I  was  startled  to  see  a 
big  ringed  brown  and  yellow  snake  lying  like  a 
rope  at  the  foot  of  the  gnat's  tree,  just  where  I 
had  sat.  He  was  about  four  feet  long,  and  had 
twenty-three  rings.  He  started  to  wind  into  the 
crotch  of  the  oak  as  if  meaning  to  climb  the  tree, 
but  instead,  crept  to  a  stump  and  festooned  him- 
self about  it  worming  around  the  holes  as  he 
might  do  if  looking  for  nest  holes.  Imagine  how 
a  mother  bird  would  feel  to  have  him  come  stealing 
upon  her  little  brood  in  that  horrid  way !  When 
he  crawled  over  the  dead  leaves  I  noted  with  a 
shiver  that  he  made  no  sound.  Thinking  of  the 
gnats,  I  watched  his  every  movement  till  he  had 
left  the  premises  and  wormed  his  way  off  through 


56  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

the  brush.  Though  quite  engrossed  with  the 
gnats,  it  was  finally  forced  upon  me  that  there  is 
more  than  one  family  in  the  world.  The  blue- 
gray's  oak  was'  a  favored  one.  A  pair  of  hang- 
birds  had  built  there  before  the  gnats  came,  and 
now  two  more  families  had  come,  making  four 
for  the  big  oak. 

When  first  suspecting  a  house  on  the  north  side 
of  the  tree,  I  moved  my  chair  over  there.  Pres- 
ently a  vireo  with  disordered  breast  feathers  flew 
down  on  a  dead  twig  close  to  the  ground  and 
leaned  over  with  a  tired  anxious  look,  and  craning 
her  neck,  turned  her  head  on  one  side,  and  bent 
her  eyes  on  the  ground  scrutinizingly.  Then  she 
hopped  down,  picked  up  something,  threw  it  away, 
picked  up  another  piece  and  flew  back  to  her  perch 
with  it,  as  if  to  make  up  her  mind  if  she  really 
wanted  that.  Then  her  mate  came,  raised  his 
crown  and  looked  down  at  the  bit  of  material  with 
a  puzzled  air  as  if  wishing  he  knew  what  to  say ; 
as  if  he  felt  he  ought  to  be  able  to  help  her  decide. 
But  he  seemed  helpless  and  could  only  follow  her 
around  when  she  was  at  work,  singing  to  her  be- 
times, and  keeping  off  friends  or  -enemies  who 
came  too  near.  When  the  young  hatched  I  no- 
ticed a  still  more  marked  difference  between  the 
nervous  manners  of  the  gnats,  and  the  repose  of 
vireos.  While  the  gnat  flipped  about  distractedly, 
the  vireo  sat  calmly  beside  her  nest,  an  exquisite 
white  basket  hanging  under  the  leaves  in  the 


WAS    IT    A    SEQUEL?  57 

sun,'  or  walked  carefully  over  the  branches  looking 
for  food  for  the  young.  Some  days  before  find- 
ing out  the  facts,  I  suspected  that  the  wood  pewee 
perching  on  the  old  tree  had  more  important 
business  there,  for  the  way  he  and  his  mate  flew 
back  and  forth  to  the  oak  top  was  very  pointed. 
So  again  I  moved  my  chair.  To  my  delight  the 
wood  pewee  flew  up  in  the  tree,  sat  down  on  a 
horizontal  crotch,  and  went  through  the  motions 
of  moulding. 

There  were  two  birds,  however,  that  simply 
used  the  tree  as  a  resting-place,  as  far  as  I  ever 
knew.  A  hummingbird  perched  on  the  tip  of 
a  twig,  looking  from  below  like  a  good  sized 
bumblebee  as  he  preened  his  feathers  and  looked 
off  upon  the  world  below.  At  the  other  side  of 
the  oak  a  pretty  pink  dove  perched  on  a  sunny 
branch  that  arched  against  the  blue  sky.  It  sat 
close  to  the  branch  beside  the  green  leaves  and 
dressed  its  feathers  or  dozed  quietly  in  the  sun. 
We  had  other  visitors  that  the  house  owners  did 
not  accept  so  willingly.  The  gnatcatchers  up  the 
sand  ditch  whose  nest  had  been  broken  up  by 
the  thief -in-the-night  did  not  object  to  brown  chip- 
pies, but  perhaps,  if  this  were  the  same  pair,  they 
had  been  made  suspicious  by  their  trouble.  In 
any  case,  when  a  brown  chippie  lit  on  a  limb  near 
the  nest,  quite  accidentally  I  believe,  and  turned 
to  look  at  the  pretty  structure,  quite  innocently  I 
feel  sure,  the  little  gnats  fell  on  him  tooth  and 


58  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

nail,  and  when  he  hid  under  the  leaves  where  they 
could  not  reach  him  they  fluttered  above  the 
leaves,  and  the  moment  he  ventured  from  under 
cover  were  both  at  him  again  so  violently  that  at 
the  first  opportunity  he  took  to  his  wings.  There 
was  one  curious  thing  about  this  attack  and  ex- 
pulsion ;  the  gnats  did  not  utter  a  word  during 
the  whole  affair !  I  had  never  known  them  to  be 
silent  before  when  anything  was  going  on  —  rarely 
when  there  wasn't. 

Another  morning  when  I  rode  in  there  was  a 
great  commotion  up  in  the  oak.  A  chorus  of 
small  scolding  voices,  and  a  fluttering  of  little 
wings  among  the  branches  told  that  something 
was  wrong,  while  a  large  form  moving  deliber- 
ately about  in  the  tree  showed  the  intruder  to  be 
a  blue  jay !  Aha !  the  gossips  would  wag  their 
heads.  I  disapprove  of  gossip,  but  as  a  truthfid 
reporter  am  obliged  to  say  that  I  saw  the  blue  jay 
pitch  down  into  the  brush  with  something  white 
in  his  bill  —  perhaps  a  cocoon  —  and  that  there- 
upon a  great  weeping  and  wailing  arose  from 
the  little  folk  up  in  the  treetop.  A  big  brown 
California  chewink  stood  by  and  watched  the  — 
robbery  (?),  great  big  fellow  that  he  was ;  and 
not  once  offered  to  take  the  little  fellows'  part. 
I  felt  indignant.  Why  did  n't  he  pitch  into  the 
big  bully  and  drive  him  o£f  before  he  had  stolen 
the  little  birds'  egg  —  if  it  was  an  egg.  A 
grosbeak  called  ick'  from  the  treetop,  but 


WAS    IT   A    SEQUEL?  59 

thought  he  'd  better  not  meddle  ;  and  —  it  was 
a  pair  of  wren-tits  who  looked  out  from  a  brush 
screen  and  then  skulked  off,  chuckling  to  them- 
selves, I  dare  say,  that  some  one  else  was  up  to 
their  tricks.  It  gave  my  faith  in  birds  a  great 
shock,  this,  together  with  the  pillage  of  the  gnat's 
nest  by  the  thief -in-the-night.  My  spleen  was 
especially  turned  against  the  brown  chewink ;  he 
certainly  was  a  good  fighter,  and  might  at  least 
have  helped  to  clear  the  neighborhood  of  such  a 
suspicious  character. 

Where  did  the  egg  —  if  it  was  an  egg  —  come 
from?  The  vireos  and  pewees  and  gnats  were  still 
building,  I  reflected  thankfully,  though  trembling 
for  their  future ;  and  fortunately  the  hangbird 
had  young.  Perhaps  the  jay  had  found  a  nest 
that  I  could  not  discover. 

After  that,  things  went  on  quietly  for  several 
days.  The  gnats  got  through  with  their  build- 
ing, and  went  off  for  a  holiday  until  it  should  be 
time  to  begin  brooding.  They  flitted  about  the 
branches  warbling,  as  if  having  nothing  special  to 
do ;  dear  little  souls,  at  work  as  at  play,  always 
together.  One  of  them  unexpectedly  found  him- 
self near  me  one  day ;  but  when  he  saw  it  was 
only  I,  whipped  his  tail  and  exclaimed  "  OA,  it 's 
you1.  I'm'  not  afraid" 

This  peace  and  quietness,  however,  did  not  last. 
The  gnats'  house  was  evidently  haunted,  and  they 
did  not  like  —  blue  —  ghosts.  One  morning  when 


60  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

I  got  to  the  oak  it  was  all  in  a  hubbub,  and  the 
vireo  was  scolding  loudly  at  a  blue  jay.  When 
the  giant  pitched  into  the  brush  the  wren-tit  chat- 
tered, and  I  thought  perhaps  the  jay  was  teaching 
him  how  it  feels  to  have  a  shoe  pinch.  A  few 
moments  later  I  was  amazed  to  see  a  gnat  jab  at 
the  wall  till  it  got  a  bill  full  of  material  and  then 
fly  off  to  the  brush  with  it !  My  little  birds  had 
moved!  Evidently  the  neighborhood  was  too 
exciting  for  them.  More  than  ten  days  of  hard 
work  —  no  one  can  tell  how  hard  until  after  watch- 
ing a  gnatcatcher  build  —  had  been  spent  in  vain 
on  this  nest ;  and  if,  as  suspected,  this  was  their 
second,  how  much  more  work  did  that  mean? 
It  was  a  marvel  that  the  birds  could  get  courage 
to  start  in  again,  especially  if  they  had  had  two 
homes  broken  up  already. 

From  my  position  at  the  big  oak  I  could  see 
that  the  gnats  were  carrying  the  frame  of  the 
old  house  to  a  small  oak  in  the  brush.  The 
wood  pewee  had  moved  too,  and  to  my  surprise 
and  pleasure  I  found  it  had  begun  its  nest  on  a 
branch  under  the  gnats,  so  that  both  families  could 
be  watched  at  the  same  time.  I  nearly  got 
brushed  off  the  saddle  promenading  through  the 
stiff  chaparral  to  find  a  place  where  the  nests 
could  be  seen  from  the  ground ;  but  when  at  last 
successful,  I  too,  like  the  rest  of  the  old  oak's  float- 
ing population,  moved  to  pastures  new.  Hanging 
my  chair  on  the  saddle,  I  made  Billy  carry  it 


WAS    IT    A    SEQUEL?  01 

for  me ;  then  I  buckled  the  reins  around  the 
trunk  of  the  oak  and  withdrew  into  the  brush  to 
watch  my  birds.  It  was  a  cozy  little  nook,  from 
which  Billy  could  be  heard  stamping  his  feet  to 
shake  off  the  flies.  The  little  crack  in  the  chap- 
arral was  a  pleasant  place  to  sit  in,  protected  as  it 
was  from  the  wind,  with  the  sun  only  coming  in 
enough  to  touch  up  the  brown  leaves  on  the  ground 
and  warm  the  fragrant  sage,  bringing  out  its  de- 
licious spicy  aromatic  smell. 

The  pewee  did  not  altogether  relish  having  us 
established  under  its  vine  and  fig- tree.  When  it 
saw  Billy  under  the  tree  it  whistled,  and  the  bit 
of  grass  it  had  brought  for  its  nest  went  sailing 
down  to  the  brush  disregarded.  It  did  not  think 
us  as  bad  as  the  blue  jay,  however,  for  it  came 
back  with  a  long  stem  of  grass  in  its  bill,  and, 
lighting  on  a  high  branch,  called  pee-ree.  To  be 
sure,  when  it  had  gone  to  the  nest  and  I  was  in- 
considerate enough  to  turn  a  page  in  my  note-book, 
it  dashed  off.  But  if  murder  will  out,  so  will 
good  intentions ;  and  before  long  the  timid  bird 
was  brooding  its  nest  with  Billy  and  me  for  spec- 
tators. 

The  gnat's  nest  here  was  so  much  lower  than 
the  other  one  that  it  was  much  easier  to  watch. 
The  first  day  the  birds  built  rapidly.  One  of 
them  got  his  spider's  web  from  beside  the  pewee's 
nest,  when  the  pewee  was  away.  He  started  to  go 
for  it  Once  after  the  owner  had  returned,  caught 


62  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

sight  of  him,  stopped  short,  and  much  to  my 
amusement  concluded  to  sit  down  and  preen  his 
feathers !  The  pewee  had  one  special  bare  twig 
of  his  own  that  he  used  for  a  perch,  and  when 
the  gnat  seated  himself  there  in  his  neighbor's 
absence  he  looked  so  small  that  I  realized  what  a 
mite  of  a  bird  he  really  was.  He  sometimes  sat 
there  and  talked  while  his  mate  moulded  the  nest. 

When  the  gnats  got  to  brooding,  many  of  the 
same  pretty  performances  were  repeated  that  had 
marked  the  first  nest  of  all,  up  in  the  sand  ditch. 
When  the  bird  on  the  nest  hopped  out  and  called, 
"  Come,  come,"  its  mate,  who  had  been  wander- 
ing around  in  the  sunny  green  treetop,  called  out 
in  sweet  tones,  "  Good-by,  good-by." 

When  waiting  for  the  gnats  to  do  something,  I 
heard  a  little  sound  in  the  oak  brush  by  my  side, 
and,  looking  through  the  brown  branches,  saw  a 
wren-tit  come  hopping  toward  me.  It  came  up 
within  three  feet  of  me,  near  enough  to  see  its 
bright  yellow  eyes.  I  began  to  wonder  if  it  had 
a  nest  near  by,  and  felt  my  prejudices  melting 
away  and  my  heart  growing  tender.  Some  thieves 
are  very  honest  fellows  ;  it  is  largely  a  difference 
in  ethical  standards  !  I  began  to  feel  a  keen  in- 
terest in  the  bird  and  its  affairs,  for  the  wren-tit 
was  really  a  most  original  bird,  and  one  I  was 
especially  anxious  to  study. 

My  newly  awakened  interest  was  not  chilled  by 
any  second  tragedy ;  all  went  well  with  the  little 


WAS    IT    A    SEQUEL?  63 

blue-grays.  The  day  the  gnat's  eggs  hatched, 
the  old  folks  performed  most  ludicrously.  Per- 
haps they  were  young  parents,  and  this  being 
their  first  brood,  maternal  and  paternal  love  had 
not  yet  blinded  their  eyes  to  the  ridiculous ; 
so  that  they  looked  down  on  these  skinny,  squirm- 
ing, big-eyeballed  prodigies  with  mingled  emo- 
tions. It  looked  very  much  as  if  they  were  sur- 
prised to  find  that  their  smooth  pretty  eggs  had 
suddenly  turned  into  these  ugly,  weak,  hungry 
things  they  did  not  know  what  to  do  with.  At 
first  it  seemed  that  something  must  be  wrong  at 
the  nest;  the  little  gnat  shook  her  wings  and 
tail  beside  it  as  if  afraid  of  soiling  herself ;  and 
when  she  hopped  into  it,  jerked  out  again  and 
flitted  around  distractedly.  Every  time  the 
birds  looked  into  the  nest  they  got  so  excited 
that,  had  they  been  girls,  they  surely  would  have 
hopped  up  and  down  wringing  their  hands.  I 
laughed  right  out  alone  in  the  brush,  they  acted 
so  absurdly. 

They  began  feeding  the  nestlings  in  the  most 
remarkable  way  I  had  ever  witnessed.  When  the 
young  mother  was  on  the  nest  her  mate  came 
and  brought  her  the  food,  whereupon,  instead  of 
jumping  off  the  nest  and  feeding  the  young  in 
the  conventional  way,  she  simply  raised  up  on 
her  feet  and,  apparently,  poked  the  food  back- 
wards into  the  bills  of  the  young  under  her 
breast !  Even  when  the  gnats  got  to  feeding 


64  A-BIRDING    ON    A    BRONCO. 

more  in  the  ordinary  way,  they  did  it  nervously. 
They  fed  as  if  expecting  the  young  to  bite  them. 
They  would  fly  up  on  the  branch  beside  the  nest, 
give  a  jab  down  at  the  youngsters,  whip  tails 
and  flee.  You  would  have  thought  the  young 
parents  had  been  playing  house  before,  and 
their  dolls  had  suddenly  turned  into  live  hungry 
nestlings. 

I  watched  this  family  till  the  house  was  de- 
serted, and  I  had  to  ride  along  a  line  of  brush 
before  finding  them.  The  young  were  now 
pretty  silvery-breasted  creatures  who  sat  up  in  a 
small  oak  while  the  old  birds  hunted  through  the 
brush  for  food  for  them.  Though  I  rode  Billy 
into  the  chaparral  after  them,  and  got  near 
enough  to  see  the  black  line  over  the  bill  of  the 
father  bird,  they  did  not  mind,  but  hunted  away 
quite  unconcernedly;  for  we  had  been  through 
many  things  together,  and  were  now  old  and  fast 
friends. 


V. 

LITTLE   PRISONERS    IN   THE   TOWER. 

I  HAD  not  spent  many  days  in  The  Little 
Lover's  dooryard  before  realizing  that  there  was 
something  in  the  wind.  If  an  inoffensive  per- 
son fancies  sitting  in  the  shade  of  a  sycamore 
with  her  horse  grazing  quietly  beside  her,  who 
should  say  her  nay?  If,  at  her  approach,  a  — 
feathered  —  person  steals  away  to  the  top  of  the 
highest,  most  distant  oak  within  sight  and,  silent 
and  motionless,  keeps  his  eye  on  her  till  she 
departs ;  if,  as  she  innocently  glances  up  at  the 
trees,  she  discovers  a  second  —  feathered  —  per- 
son's head  extended  cautiously  from  behind  a 
trunk,  its  eyes  fixed  on  hers ;  or  if,  as  she  passes 
along  a  —  sycamore  —  street,  a  person  comes  to 
a  window  and  cranes  his  neck  to  look  at  her, 
and  instantly  leaves  the  premises ;  then  surely, 
as  the  world  wags,  she  is  quite  justified  in  hav- 
ing a  mind  of  her  own  in  the  matter.  Still 
more,  when  it  comes  to  finding  chips  under 
a  window  —  who  could  do  aught  but  infer  that 
a  carpenter  lived  within?  Not  I.  And  so 
it  came  about  that  I  discovered  that  one  of  the 
apartments  in  the  back  of  the  wren  sycamore 


66 


A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 


California  Woodpecker. 
(One  half  natural  size.) 


had  been  rented  by  a 
pair  of  well-meaning 
but  suspicious  Califor- 
nia woodpeckers,  first 
cousins  of  the  eastern 
red-heads. 

It  is  unpleasant  to 
be  treated  as  if  you 
needed  detectives  on 
your  track.  It  strains 
your  faith  in  human 
nature  ;  the  rest  of  the 
world  must  be  very  wicked  if  people  suspect  such 
extremely  good  creatures  as  you  are !  And  then 
it  reflects  on  the  detectives ;  it  shows  them  so 
lacking  in  discernment.  Nevertheless,  "  A  friend 
should  bear  his  friend's  infirmities,"  and  I  was 
determined  to  be  friends  with  the  woodpeckers. 
One  of  them  kept  me 
waiting  an  hour  one 
morning.  When  I  first 
saw  it,  it  was  on  its  tree 
trunk,  but  when  it  first 
saw  me,  it  promptly  left 
for  parts  unknown.  I 
stopped  at  a  respectful 
distance  from  its  tree  — 
several  rods  away  —  and  Red-headed  Woodpecker  - 
threw  myself  down  on  Eastern. 

the    Warm    Sand     in    the  (One  half  natural  size.) 


LITTLE  PRISONERS  IN  THE   TOWER.     67 

bed  of  the  dry  stream,  between  high  hedges  of 
exquisite  lemon-colored  mustard.  Patient  wait- 
ing is  no  loss,  observers  must  remember  if  they 
would  be  consoled  for  their  lost  hours.  In  this 
case  I  waited  till  I  felt  like  a  lotus-eater  who 
could  have  stayed  on  forever.  A  dove  brooded 
her  eggs  on  a  branch  of  the  spreading  sycamore 
whose  arms  were  outstretched  protectingly  above 
me ;  the  sun  rested  full  on  its  broad  leaves,  and 
bees  droned  around  the  fragrant  mustard,  whose 
exquisite  golden  flowers  waved  gently  against  a 
background  of  soft  blue  California  sky. 

But  that  was  not  the  last  day  I  had  to  wait. 
It  was  over  a  month  before  the  birds  put  any  trust 
in  me.  The  nest  hole  was  excavated  before  the 
middle  of  May ;  on  June  15  I  wrote  in  my  note- 
book, "  The  woodpecker  has  gotten  so  that  when 
I  go  by  she  puts  her  head  out  of  the  window,  and 
when  I  speak  to  her  does  not  fly  away,  but  cocks 
her  head  and  looks  down  at  me."  l  That  same 
morning  the  bird  actually  entered  the  nest  in  my 
presence.  She  came  back  to  her  sycamore  while 
I  was  watching  the  wrens,  and  flew  right  up  to  the 
mouth  of  the  nest.  She  was  a  little  nervous.  She 
poked  in  her  bill,  drew  it  back ;  put  in  her  head, 
drew  that  back;  then  swung  her  body  partly  in; 
but  finally  the  tip  of  her  tail  disappeared  down 
the  hole. 

1  The  difference  in  the  dress  of  the  woodpeckers  is  so  slight 
that  the  sexes  were  not  distinguished  at  this  nest. 


68  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

The  next  morning,  in  riding  by,  I  heard  weak 
voices  from  the  woodpecker  mansion.  If  young 
were  to  be  fed,  I  must  be  on  hand.  Such  luxu- 
rious observing!  Riding  Mountain  Billy  out 
into  the  meadow,  I  dismounted,  and  settled  my- 
self comfortably  against  a  haycock  with  the  bridle 
over  my  arm.  It  was  a  beautiful  quiet  morning. 
The  night  fog  had  melted  back  and  the  moun- 
tains stood  out  in  relief  against  a  sky  of  pare 
deep  blue.  The  line  of  sycamores  opposite  us 
were  green  and  still  against  the  blue ;  the  morn- 
ing sun  lighting  their  white  trunks  and  frame- 
work. The  songs  of  birds  filled  the  air,  and  the 
straw-colored  field  dotted  with  haycocks  lay  sun- 
ning under  the  quiet  sky.  In  the  East  we  are 
accustomed  to  speak  of  "  the  peace  of  evening," 
but  in  southern  California  in  spring  there  is  a 
peculiar  interval  of  warmth  and  rest,  a  langorous 
pause  in  the  growth  of  the  morning,  between  the 
disappearance  of  the  night  fog  and  the  coming  of 
the  cool  trade  wind,  when  the  southern  sun  shines 
full  into  the  little  valleys  and  the  peace  of  the 
morning  is  so  deep  and  serene  that  the  labor  of 
the  day  seems  done.  Nature  appears  to  be  slum- 
bering. She  is  aroused  slowly  and  gently  by  the 
soft  breaths  that  come  in  from  the  Pacific.  On 
this  day  I  watched  the  awakening.  Up  to  this 
time  not  a  grass  blade  had  stirred,  but  while  I 
dreamed  a  brown  leaf  went  whirling  to  the  ground, 
the  stray  stalks  of  oats  left  from  the  mowing  be- 


LITTLE  PRISONERS  IN   THE   TOWER.      69 

• 

gan  to  nod,  and  the  sycamore  branches  commenced 
to  sway.  Then  the  breeze  swelled  stronger,  coining 
cool  and  fresh  from  the  ocean ;  the  yellow  prim- 
roses, around  which  the  hummingbirds  whirred, 
bowed  on  their  stately  stalks,  and  I  could  hear  the 
wind  in  the  moving  treetops. 

Mountain  Billy  grazed  near  me  till  it  occurred 
to  him  that  stubble  was  unsatisfactory,  when  he 
betook  him  to  my  haycock.  Though  I  lectured 
him  upon  the  rights  of  property  and  enforced  my 
sermon  with  the  point  of  the  parasol,  he  was  soon 
back  again,  with  the  amused  look  of  a  naughty 
boy  who  cannot  believe  in  the  severity  of  .  his 
monitor ;  and  later,  I  regret  to  state,  when  I  was 
engrossed  with  the  woodpeckers,  a  sound  of 
munching  arose  from  behind  my  back. 

The  woodpeckers  talked  and  acted  very  much 
like  their  cousins,  the  red-heads  of  the  East. 
When  they  went  to  the  nest  they  called  chuck1 -ah 
as  if  to  wake  the  young,  flying  away  with  the 
familiar  rattling  kit-errrfrfrf.  They  flew  nearly 
half  a  mile  to  their  regular  feeding  ground,  and 
did  not  come  to  the  nest  as  often  as  the  wrens 
when  bringing  up  their  brood.  Perhaps  they  got 
more  at  a  time,  filling  their  crops  and  feeding  by 
regurgitation,  as  I  have  seen  waxwings  do  when 
having  a  long  distance  to  go  for  food. 

I  first  heard  the  voices  of  the  young  on  June 
16 ;  nearly  three  weeks  later,  July  6,  the  birds 
were  still  in  the  nest.  On  that  morning,  when  I 


70  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

went  out  to  mount  Billy,  I  was  shocked  to  find  the 
body  of  one  of  the  old  woodpeckers  on  the  saddle. 
I  thought  it  had  been  shot,  but  found  it  had  been 
picked  up  in  the  prune  orchard.  That  afternoon 
its  mate  was  brought  in  from  the  same  place. 
Probably  both  birds  had  eaten  poisoned  raisins 
left  out  for  the  gophers.  The  dead  birds  were 
thrown  out  under  the  orange-trees  near  the  house, 
and  not  many  hours  afterward,  when  I  looked  out 
of  the  window,  two  turkey  vultures  were  sitting 
on  the  ground,  one  of  them  with  a  pathetic  little 
black  wing  in  his  bill.  The  great  black  birds 
seemed' horrible  to  me,  —  ugly,  revolting  creatures. 
I  went  outside  to  see  what  they  would  do,  and 
after  craning  their  long  red  necks  at  me  and  stalk- 
ing around  nervously  a  few  moments  they  flew  off. 
Now  what  would  become  of  the  small  birds  im- 
prisoned in  the  tree  trunk,  with  no  one  to  bring 
them  food,  no  one  to  show  them  how  to  get  out, 
or,  if  they  were  out,  to  feed  them  till  they  had 
learned  how  to  care  for  themselves  ?  Sad  and 
anxious,  I  rode  down  to  the  sycamore.  I  rapped 
on  its  trunk,  calling  chuck'-ah  as  much  like  the 
old  birds  as  possible.  There  was  an  instant  an- 
swer from  a  strong  rattling  voice  and  a  weak  pip- 
ing one.  The  weak  voice  frightened  me.  If  that 
little  bird's  life  were  to  be  saved,  it  was  time  to 
be  about  it.  The  ranchman's  son  was  pruning  the 
vineyard,  and  I  rode  over  to  get  him  to  come  and 
see  how  we  could  rescue  the  little  prisoners. 


LITTLE  PRISONERS  IN  THE   TOWER.      71 

On  our  way  to  the  tree  we  came  on  a  gopher 
snake  four  feet  long.  It  was  so  near  the  color  of 
the  soil  that  I  would  have  passed  it  by,  but  the 
boy  discovered  it.  The  creature  lay  so  still  he 
thought  it  was  dead ;  but  as  we  stood  looking,  it 
puffed  itself  up  with  a  big  breath,  darted  out  its 
tongue,  and  began  to  move  off.  I  watched  to  see 
how  it  made  the  straight  track  we  so  often  saw  in 
the  dust  of  the  roads.  It  bent  its  neck  into  a 
scallop  for  a  purchase,  while  its  tapering  tail  made 
an  S,  to  furnish  slack ;  and  then  it  pulled  the 
main  length  of  its  body  along  straight.  It  crawled 
noiselessly  right  to  the  foot  of  the  woodpecker 
tree,  but  was  only  hunting  for  a  hole  to  hide 
in.  It  got  part  way  down  one  hole,  found  that 
it  was  too  small,  and  had  to  come  backing  out 
again.  It  followed  the  sand  bed,  taking  my  regu- 
lar beat,  from  tree  to  tree !  To  be  sure,  gopher 
snakes  are  harmless,  but  they  are  suggestive,  and 
you  would  rather  their  ways  were  not  your  ways. 

Although  the  little  prisoners  welcomed  us  as 
rescuers  should  be  welcomed,  they  did  it  by  mis- 
take. They  thought  we  were  their  parents.  At 
the  first  blow  of  the  axe  their  voices  hushed,  and 
not  a  sound  came  from  them  again.  It  seemed  as 
if  we  never  should  get  the  birds  out. 

It  looked  easy  enough,  but  it  was  n't.  The  nest 
was  about  twelve  feet  above  the  ground.  The 
sycamore  was  so  big  the  boy  could  not  reach 
around  it,  and  so  smooth  and  slippery  he  could 


72  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

not  get  up  it,  though  he  had  always  been  a  good 
climber.  He  clambered  up  a  drooping  branch  on 
the  back  of  the  tree,  —  the  nest  was  in  front,  — 
but  could  not  swing  himself  around  when  he  got 
up.  Then  he  tried  the  hollow  burned  at  the  foot 
of  the  tree.  The  charred  wood  crumbled  beneath 
his  feet,  but  at  last,  by  stretching  up  and  clinging 
to  a  knothole,  he  managed  to  reach  the  nest. 

As  his  fingers  went  down  the  hole,  the  young- 
birds  grabbed  them,  probably  mistaking  them  for 
their  parents'  bills.  "  Their  throats  seem  hot,'' 
the  boy  exclaimed  ;  "poor  hungry  little  things  !  " 
His  fingers  would  go  through  the  nest  hole,  but  not 
his  knuckles,  and  the  knothole  where  he  steadied 
himself  was  too  slippery  to  stand  on  while  he  en- 
larged the  hole.  It  was  getting  late,  and  as  he  had 
his  chores  to  do  before  dark  I  suggested  that  we 
feed  the  birds  and  leave  them  in  the  tree  till  morn- 
ing ;  but  the  rescuer  exclaimed  resolutely,  "  We  '11 
get  them  out  to-night !  "  and  hurried  off  to  the 
ranch-house  for  a  step-ladder  and  axe. 

The  ladder  did  not  reach  up  to  the  first  knot- 
hole, four  or  five  feet  below  the  nest ;  but  the  boy 
cut  a  notch  in  the  top  of  the  knot  and  stood  in  it, 
practically  on  one  foot,  and  held  on  to  a  small 
branch  with  his  right  hand  —  the  first  limb  he 
trusted  to  broke  off  as  he  caught  it  —  while  with 
the  left  hand  he  hacked  away  at  the  nest  hole. 
It  was  a  ticklish  position  and  genuine  work,  for 
the  wood  was  hard  and  the  hatchet  dull. 


LITTLE  PRISONERS  IN  THE   TOWER.      73 

I  stood  below  holding  the  carving-knife,  —  we 
hadn't  many  tools  on  the  ranch,  —  and  as  the  boy 
worked  he  entertained  me  with  an  account  of  an 
accident  that  happened  years  before,  when  his 
brother  had  chopped  off  a  branch  and  the  axe  head 
had  glanced  off,  striking  the  head  of  the  boy  who 
was  watching  below.  I  stood  from  under  as  he 
finished  his  story,  and  inquired  with  interest  if  he 
were  sure  his  axe  head  was  tight !  Before  the  lad 
had  made  much  impression  on  the  hard  sycamore, 
he  got  so  tired  and  looked  so  white  around  the 
mouth  that  I  insisted  on  his  getting  down  to  rest, 
and  tried  to  divert  him  by  calling  his  attention  to 
the  sunset  and  the  voices  of  the  quail  calling  from 
the  vineyard.  When  he  went  up  again  I  handed 
him  the  carving-knife  to  slice  off  the  thinner  wood 
on  the  edge  of  the  nest  hole,  warning  him  not  to 
cut  off  the  heads  of  the  young  birds. 

At  last  the  hole  was  big  enough,  and,  sticking 
the  hatchet  and  knife  into  the  bark,  the  lad  threw 
one  arm  around  the  trunk  to  hold  on  while  he 
thrust  his  hand  down  into  the  nest.  "  My,  what 
a  deep  hole  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I  don't  know  as 
I  can  reach  them  now.  They  've  gone  to  the  bot- 
tom, they're  so  afraid."  Nearly  a  foot  down  he 
had  to  squeeze,  but  at  last  got  hold  of  one  bird 
and  brought  it  out.  "  Drop  him  down,"  I  cried, 
"  I  '11  catch  him,"  and  held  up  my  hands.  The 
little  bird  came  fluttering  through  the  air.  The 
second  bird  clung  frightened  to  the  boy's  coat,  but 


74  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

he  loosened  its  claws  and  dropped  it  down  to  me. 
What  would  the  poor  old  mother  woodpecker 
have  thought  had  she  seen  these  first  flights  of 
her  nestlings  ! 

I  hurried  the  little  scared  brothers  under  my 
jacket,  my  best  substitute  for  a  hollow  tree,  and 
called  chuck'-ah  to  them  in  the  most  woodpecker- 
like  tones  I  could  muster.  Then  the  boy  shoul- 
dered the  ladder,  and  I  took  the  carving-knife, 
and  we  trudged  home  triumphant ;  we  had  res- 
cued the  little  prisoners  from  the  tower ! 

When  we  had  taken  them  into  the  house  the 
woodpeckers  called  out,  and  the  cats  looked  up  so 
savagely  that  I  asked  the  boy  to  take  the  birds 
home  to  his  sister  to  keep  till  they  were  able  to 
care  for  themselves.  On  examining  them  I  un- 
derstood what  the  difference  in  their  voices  had 
meant.  One  of  them  poked  his  head  out  of  the 
opening  in  my  jacket  where  he  was  riding,  while 
the  other  kept  hidden  away  in  the  dark  ;  and  when 
they  were  put  into  my  cap  for  the  boy  to  carry 
home,  the  one  with  the  weak  voice  disclosed  a 
whitish  bill  —  a  bad  sign  with  a  bird  —  and  its 
feeble  head  bent  under  it  so  weakly  that  I  was 
afraid  it  would  die. 

Three  days  later,  when  I  went  up  to  the  lad's 
house,  it  was  to  be  greeted  by  loud  cries  from  the 
little  birds.  Though  they  were  in  a  box  with  a 
towel  over  it,  they  heard  all  that  was  going  on. 
Their  voices  were  as  sharp  as  their  ears,  and  they 


LITTLE  PRISONERS  IN  THE   TOWER.     75 

screamed  at  me  so  imperatively  that  I  hurried  out 
to  the  kitchen  and  rummaged  through  the  cup- 
boards till  I  found  some  food  for  them.  They 
opened  their  bills  and  gulped  it  down  as  if  starv- 
ing, although  their  guardian  told  me  afterwards 
that  she  had  fed  them  two  or  three  hours  before. 

When  held  up  where  the  air  could  blow  on 
them,  they  grew  excited ;  and  one  of  them  flew 
down  to  the  floor  and  hid  away  in  a  dark  closet, 
sitting  there  as  contentedly  as  if  it  reminded  him 
of  his  tree  trunk  home. 

I  took  the  two  brothers  out  into  the  sitting- 
room  and  kept  them  on  my  lap  for  some  time, 
watching  their  interesting  ways.  The  weak  one  I 
dubbed  Jacob,  which  is  the  name  the  people  of 
the  valley  had  given  the  woodpeckers  from  the 
sound  of  their  cries ;  the  stronger  bird  I  called 
Bairdi,  as  '  short '  for  Melanerpes  formicivorous 
bairdi  —  the  name  the  ornithologists  had  given 
them. 

Jacob  and  Bairdi  each  had  ways  of  his  own. 
When  offered  a  palm,  Bairdi,  who  was  quite  like 
'  folks,'  was  content  to  sit  in  it ;  but  Jacob  hung 
with  his  claws  clasping  a  little  finger  as  a  true 
woodpecker  should ;  he  took  the  same  pose  when 
he  sat  for  his  picture.  Bairdi  often  perched  in 
my  hand,  with  his  bill  pointing  to  the  ceiling, 
probably  from  his  old  habit  of  looking  up  at  the 
door  of  his  nest.  Sometimes  when  Bairdi  sat  in 
my  hand,  Jacob  would  swing  himself  up  from  my 


76  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

little  finger,  coming  bill  to  bill  with  his  brother, 
when  the  small  bird  would  open  his  mouth  as  he 
used  to  for  his  mother  to  feed  him.  Poor  little 
orphans,  they  could  not  get  used  to  their  changed 
conditions ! 

They  did  other  droll  things  just  as  their  fathers 
had  done  before  them.  They  used  to  screw  their 
heads  around  owl  fashion,  a  very  convenient  thing 
for  wild  birds  who  cling  to  tree  trunks  and  yet 
need  to  know  what  is  going  on  behind  their  backs. 
Once,  on  hearing  a  sudden  noise,  one  of  them 
ducked  low  and  drew  his  head  in  between  his 
shoulders  in  such  a  comical  way  we  all  laughed  at 
him. 

I  often  went  up  to  the  ranch  to  visit  them.  We 
would  take  them  out  under  a  big  spreading  oak 
beside  the  house,  where  the  little  girl's  mother  sat 
with  her  sewing,  and  then  watch  the  birds  as  we 
talked.  When  we  put  them  on  the  tree  trunk, 
at  first  they  did  not  know  what  to  do,  but  soon 
they  scrambled  up  on  the  branches  so  fast  their 
guardian  had  to  climb  up  after  them  for  fear  they 
would  get  away.  Poor  little  Jacob  climbed  as  if 
afraid  of  falling  off,  taking  short  hops  up  the  side 
of  the  tree,  bending  his  stiff  tail  at  a  sharp  angle 
under  him  to  brace  himself  against  the  bark. 
Bairdi,  his  strong  brother,  was  less  nervous,  and 
found  courage  to  catch  ants  on  the  bark.  Jacob 
did  a  pretty  thing  one  day.  When  put  on  the 
oak,  he  crept  into  a  crack  of  the  bark  and  lay 


LITTLE  PRISONERS  IN  THE   TOWER.      11 

there  fluffed  up  against  its  sides  with  the  sun 
slanting  across,  lighting  up  his  pretty  red  cap. 
He  looked  so  contented  and  happy  it  was  a  pleas- 
ure to  watch  him.  Another  time  he  started  to 
climb  up  on  top  of  my  head  and,  I  dare  say,  was 
surprised  and  disappointed  when  what  he  had 
taken  for  a  tree  trunk  came  to  an  untimely  end. 
When  we  put  the  brothers  on  the  grass,  one  of 
them  went  over  the  ground  with  long  hops,  while 
the  other  hid  under  the  rocking-chair.  One  bird 
seemed  possessed  to  sit  on  the  white  apron  worn 
by  the  little  girl's  mother,  flying  over  to  it  from 
my  lap,  again  and  again. 

The  woodpeckers  had  brought  from  the  nest  a 
liking  for  dark,  protected  places.  Bairdi  twice 
clambered  up  my  hair  and  hung  close  under  the 
brim  of  my  black  straw  hat.  Another  time  he 
climbed  up  my  dress  to  my  black  tie  and,  fasten- 
ing his  claws  in  the  silk,  clung  with  his  head 
in  the  dark  folds  as  if  he  liked  the  shade.  I  cov- 
ered the  pretty  pet  with  my  hand  and  he  seemed 
to  enjoy  it.  When  I  first  looked  down  at  him  his 
eyes  were  open,  though  he  kept  very  still;  but 
soon  his  head  dropped  on  my  breast  and  he  went 
fast  asleep,  and  would  have  had  a  good  nap  if 
Jacob  had  not  called  and  waked  him  up. 

Jacob  improved  so  much  after  the  first  few 
days  —  and  some  doses  of  red  pepper  —  that  we 
had  to  look  twice  to  tell  him  from  his  sturdy  bro- 
ther. He  certainly  ate  enough  to  make  him  grow. 


78  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

The  birds  liked  best  to  be  fed  with  a  spoon  ;  prob- 
ably it  seemed  more  like  a  bill.  After  a  little, 
they  learned  to  peck  at  their  food,  a  sign  I  hailed 
eagerly  as  indicative  of  future  self-support ;  for 
with  appetites  of  day  laborers  and  no  one  to 
supply  their  wants,  they  would  have  suffered 
sorely,  poor  little  orphans  !  Sometimes,  when  they 
had  satisfied  their  first  hunger,  they  would  shake 
the  bread  from  their  bills  as  if  they  didn't  like  it 
and  wanted  food  they  were  used  to. 

When  one  got  hungry  he  would  call  out,  and 
then  his  brother  would  begin  to  shout.  The  little 
tots  gave  a  crooning  gentle  note  when  caressed, 
and  a  soft  cry  when  they  snuggled  down  in  our 
hands  or  cuddled  up  to  us  as  they  had  done 
under  their  mother's  wing.  Their  call  for  food 
was  a  sibilant  chirr,  and  they  gave  it  much  oftener 
than  any  of  the  grown-up  woodpecker  notes. 
But  they  also  said  chuck'-ah  and  rattled  like  the 
old  birds. 

I  was  glad  there  were  two  of  them  so  they  would 
not  be  so  lonely.  If  separated  they  showed  their 
interest  in  each  other.  If  Bairdi  called,  Jacob 
would  keep  still  and  listen  attentively,  raising  his 
topknot  till  every  microscopic  red  feather  stood 
up  like  a  bristle,  when  he  would  answer  Bairdi  in 
a  loud  manly  voice. 

It  was  amusing  to  see  the  small  birds  try  to 
plume  themselves.  Sometimes  they  would  take  a 
sudden  start  to  make  their  toilettes,  and  both  work 


JACOB    AND    BAIRDI    VISITING    THE    OLD    NEST    TREE 


LITTLE  PRISONERS  IN  THE   TOWER.      79 

away  vigorously  upon  their  plumes.  It  was  com- 
ical to  see  them  try  to  find  their  oil  glands.  Had 
the  old  birds  taught  them  how  to  oil  their  feathers 
while  they  were  still  in  the  nest?  They  were 
thickly  feathered,  but  when  they  reached  back  to 
their  tails  the  pink  skin  showed  between  their 
spines  and  shoulders,  giving  .a  good  idea  of  the 
way  birds'  feathers  grow  only  in  tracts. 

When  the  little  princes  were  about  a  month 
old,  I  arranged  with  a  neighboring  photographer 
to  have  them  sit  for  their  picture.  He  drove  over 
to  the  sycamore,  and  the  lad  who  had  rescued  the 
prisoners  took  them  down  to  keep  their  appoint- 
ment. One  of  them  tried  to  tuck  its  head  up 
the  boy's  sleeve,  being  attracted  by  dark  holes. 
While  we  were  waiting  for  the  photographer,  the 
boy  put  Jacob  in  a  hollow  of  the  tree,  where  he 
began  pecking  as  if  he  liked  it.  He  worked  away 
till  he  squeezed  himself  into  a  small  pocket,  and 
then,  with  his  feathers  ruffled  up,  sat  there,  the 
picture  of  content.  Indeed,  the  little  fellow  looked 
more  at  home  than  I  had  ever  seen  him  anywhere. 
The  rescuer  was  itching  to  put  the  little  princes 
back  in  their  hole,  to  see  what  they  would  do, 
but  I  wouldn't  listen  to  it,  being  thankful  to 
have  gotten  them  out  once. 

When  Bairdi  was  on  the  bark  and  Jacob  was 
put  below  him,  he  turned  his  head,  raised  his  red 
cap,  and  looked  down  at  his  brother  in  a  very 
winning  way. 


80  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

Soon  the  photographer  came,  and  asked,  "  Are 
these  the  little  chaps  that  try  to  swallow  your 
fingers?"  We  were  afraid  they  would  not  sit 
still  enough  to  get  good  likenesses,  but  we  had 
taken  the  precaution  to  give  them  a  hearty  break- 
fast just  before  starting,  and  they  were  too  sleepy 
to  move  much.  Ii*  the  picture,  Jacob  is  clinging 
to  the  boy's  hand  in  his  favorite  way,  and  Bairdi 
is  on  the  tree  trunk. 

Mountain  Billy  pricked  up  his  ears  when  he 
discovered  the  woodpeckers  down  at  the  sycamore, 
but  he  often  saw  them  up  at  the  ranch  and  took 
me  to  make  a  farewell  call  on  them  before  I  left 
for  the  East.  We  found  the  birds  perched  on  the 
tobacco-tree  in  front  of  the  ranch-house,  with  a 
tall  step-ladder  beside  it  so  the  little  girl  could 
take  them  in  at  night.  Their  cup  of  bread  and 
milk  stood  on  the  ladder,  and  when  I  called  them 
they  came  over  to  be  fed.  They  were  both  so 
strong  and  well  that  they  would  soon  be  able  to 
care  for  themselves,  as  their  fathers  had  done 
before  them.  And  when  they  were  ready  to  fly, 
they  might  have  help ;  for  an  old  woodpecker  of 
their  family  —  possibly  an  unknown  uncle  —  had 
been  seen  watching  them  from  the  top  of  a  neigh- 
boring oak,  and  may  have  been  just  waiting  to 
adopt  the  little  orphans.  In  any  case,  however 
they  were  to  start  out  in  the  world,  it  was  a  great 
satisfaction  to  have  rescued  them  from  their 
prison  tower. 


VI. 

HINTS    BY    THE   WAY. 

ON  our  way  back  and  forth  along  the  line  of 
oaks  and  sycamores  belonging  to  the  little  pris- 
oners, the  little  lover,  and  the  gnatcatchers, 
Mountain  Billy  and  I  got  a  good  many  hints,  he 
of  places  to  graze,  and  I  of  new  nests  to  watch. 

While  waiting  for  the  woodpeckers  one  day 
I  saw  a  small  brownish  bird  flying  busily  back 
and  forth  to  some  green  weeds.  She  was  joined 
by  her  mate,  a  handsome  blue  lazuli  bunting, 
even  more  beautiful  than  our  lovely  indigo  bunt- 
ing, and  he  flew  beside  her  full  of  life  and  joy. 
He  lit  on  the  side  of  a  cockle  stem,  and  on  the 
instant  caught  sight  of  me.  Alas !  he  seemed 
suddenly  turned  to  stone.  He  held  onto  that 
stalk  as  if  his  little  legs  had  been  bars  of  iron 
and  I  a  devouring  monster.  When  he  had  col- 
lected his  wits  enough  to  fly  off,  instead  of  the 
careless  gay  flight  with  which  he  had  come  out 
through  the  open  air,  he  timidly  kept  low  within 
the  cockle  field,  making  a  circuitous  way  through 
the  high  stalks. 

He  could  be  afraid  of  me  if  he  liked,  I  thought, 
-  for  after  a  certain  amount  of  suspicion  an  in- 


82  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

nocent  person  gets  resentful ;  at  any  rate,  I  was 
going  to  see  that  nest.  Creeping  up  cautiously 
when  the  mother  bird  was  away,  so  as  not  to 
scare  her,  and  carefully  parting  the  mallows,  I 
looked  in.  Yes,  there  it  was,  a  beautiful  little 
sage-green  nest  of  old  grass  laid  in  a  coil.  I  felt 
as  pleased  as  if  having  a  right  to  share  the  family 
happiness. 

After  that  I  watched  the  small  worker  gather 
material  with  new  interest,  knowing  where  she 
was  going  to  put  it.  She  worked  fast,  but  did 
not  take  the  first  thing  she  found,  by  any  means. 
With  a  flit  of  the  wing  she  went  in  nervous  haste 
from  cockle  to  cockle,  looking  eagerly  about  her. 
Jumping  down  to  the  ground,  she  picked  up  a  bit 
of  grass,  threw  it  down  dissatisfied,  and  turned 
away  like  a  person  looking  for  something.  At 
last  she  lit  on  the  side  of  a  thistle,  and  tweaking 
out  a  fibre  flew  with  it  to  the  nest. 

When  the  house  was  done,  one  morning  in 
passing  I  leaned  down  from  the  saddle,  and 
through  the  weeds  saw  her  brown  wings  as  she 
sat  on  the  nest.  A  month  after  the  first  en- 
counter with  the  father  lazuli,  I  found  him  look- 
ing at  me  around  the  corner  of  a  cockle  stalk, 
and  in  passing  back  •again  caught  him  singing 
full  tilt,  though  his  bill  was  full  of  insects  !  After 
we  had  turned  our  backs,  I  looked  over  my  shoul- 
der and  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  him  take 
his  beakful  to  the  nest.  You  could  n't  help  admir- 


HINTS    BY    THE    WAY.  83 

ing  him,  for  though  not  a  warrior  who  would 
snap  his  bill  over  the  head  of  an  enemy  of  his 
home,  he  had  a  gallant  holiday  air  with  his  blue 
coat  and  merry  song,  and  you  felt  sure  his  little 
brown  mate  would  get  cheer  and  courage  enough 
from  his  presence  to  make  family  dangers  appear 
less  frightful.  Even  this  casual  acquaintance 
with  the  little  pair  gave  me  a  new  and  tender 
interest  in  all  of  their  nanie  I  might  know  in 
future. 

While  watching  the  lazulis  from  the  sycamores, 
on  looking  up  on  a  level  with  Billy's  ears,  I  dis- 
covered a  snug  canopied  nest  held  by  a  jointed 
branch  of  the  twisted  tree,  as  in  the  palm  of  your 
hand.  It  was  as  if  the  old  sycamore  were  pro- 
tecting the  little  brood,  holding  it  secure  from  all 
dangers.  Looking  at  the  nest,  I  spied  a  brown 
tail  resting  against  the  limb,  and  then  a  small 
brown  head  was  raised  to  look  at  me  from  be- 
tween the  leaves.  It  was  the  little  bird  whose 
sweet  home-like  song  had  so  cheered  my  heart  in 
this  far-away  land,  the  home  song  sparrow,  dearer 
than  all  the  birds  of  California.  It  was  such  a 
pleasure  to  find  her  that  I  sat  in  the  saddle  and 
talked  to  the  pretty  bird  while  she  brooded  her 
eggs  under  the  green  leaves. 

The  next  time  we  went  down  to  the  sycamore 
the  bird  was  away,  and  it  seemed  as  if  the  tree 
had  been  deserted.  It  was  empty  and  uninterest- 
ing. Again  I  came,  and  this  time  the  father 


84  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

song  sparrow  sang  blithely  in  the  old  tree,  while 
his  gentle  mate  went  about  looking  for  food  for 
her  brood.  Her  little  birds  had  come !  How 
happy  and  full  of  business  she  seemed !  She  ran 
nimbly  over  the  ground,  weaving  in  and  out  be- 
tween the  stalks  of  the  oats  and  the  yellow  mus- 
tard, as  if  there  were  paths  in  her  forest.  When 
she  had  to  run  across  the  sand  bed,  out  in  open 
sight,  she  put  up  her  tail,. held  her  wings  tight  at 
her  sides,  and  scudded  across.  Then  with  the 
sunlight  through  the  leaves  dappling  her  back, 
she  ran  around  the  foot  of  the  sycamore.  She 
had  something  in  her  bill,  and  with  a  happy 
chirp  was  off  to  her  brood. 

There  was  another  family  abroad  on  our  beat. 
When  riding  past  the  little  lover's,  I  heard  voices 
of  young  birds  beyond,  and  rode  out  to  the  oak 
in  the  middle  of  the  field  from  which  they  came, 
to  see  who  it  was.  It  was  a  surprise  to  find  a 
family  of  full-fledged  blue  jays  —  a  surprise,  be- 
cause the  jays  had  been  terrorizing  the  small 
birds  of  the  neighborhood  till  it  seemed  strange 
to  think  they  had  any  Jamily  life  themselves.  I 
had  come  to  feel  that  they  were  great  hobgoblins 
going  about  seeking  whom  they  could  devour; 
but  such  harsh  judgments  are  usually  false, 
whether  of  birds  or  beasts,  and  I  was  convinced 
against  my  will  on  hearing  the  tender  tone  in 
which  the  old  jays  called  to  their  young. 

To  be  sure,  they  were  imperative  in  their  com- 


HINTS    BY    THE    WAY.  85 

mands.  As  I  rode  around  the  tree,  one  of  them 
looked  at  me  sharply  and  proceeded  to  take 
measures  to  protect  his  brood.  When  one  of 
the  children  told  me  where  he  was,  his  parent 
promptly  flew  over  and  shouted  in  his  ear,  "  Be 
quiet !  "  with  such  a  ring  of  command  that  an  un- 
broken hush  followed.  Moreover,  when  one  child, 
probably  a  greedy  one,  teased  for  food,  its  par- 
ent ran  down  the  branch  to  drive  it  off ;  and  in 
some  way  best  known  to  themselves  the  old  birds 
hushed  up  the  boisterous  young  ones  and  spirited 
them  out  of  my  sight.  But  all  these  things  were 
in  line  with  good  family  government  and  the  best 
interests  of  the  children,  and  were  more  than 
atoned  for  by  the  soft  gentle  notes  the  old  birds 
used  when  they  were  leading  around  their 
cherished  brood  out  of  harm's  way. 


0? 

TJITIVBKJII 


VII. 

AROUND   OUR   RANCH-HOUSE. 

CLOSE  up  under  the  hills,  the  old  vine-covered 
ranch-house  stood  within  a  circle  of  great  spread- 
ing live  oaks.  The  trees  were  full  of  noisy, 
active  blackbirds  —  Brewer's  blackbirds,  relatives 
of  the  rusty  that  we  know  in  New  York.  The 
ranchman  told  me  that  they  always  came  up  the 
valley  from  the  vineyard  to  begin  gathering 
straws  for  their  nests  on  his  brother's  birthday, 
the  twenty-fifth  of  March.  After  that  time  it 
was  well  for  passers  below  to  beware.  If  an 
unwary  cat,  or  even  a  hen  or  turkey  gobbler, 
chanced  under  the  blackbirds'  tree,  half  a  dozen 
birds  would  dive  down  at  it,  screaming  and  scold- 
ing till  the  intruders  beat  an  humble  retreat. 
But  the  blackbirds  were  not  always  the  aggress- 
ors. I  heard  a  great  outcry  from  them  one  day, 
and  ran  out  to  find  them  collecting  at  the  tree  in 
front  of  the  house.  A  moment  later  a  hawk  flew 
off  with  a  young  nestling,  and  was  followed  by  an 
angry  black  mob. 

One  pair  of  the  blackbirds  nested  in  the  oak 
by  the  side  of  the  house,  over  the  hammock. 
Though  making  themselves  so  perfectly  at  home 


AROUND    OUR    RANCH-HOUSE.  87 

on  the  premises,  driving  off  the  ranchman's  cats 
and  gobblers,  and  drinking  from  his  watering- 
trough,  if  they  were  taken  at  close  quarters,  with 
young  in  their  nests,  the  noisy  birds  were  aston- 
ishingly timid.  One  could  hardly  understand  it 
in  them. 

One  afternoon  I  sat  down  under  the  tree  to 
watch  them.  Mountain  Billy  rested  his  bridle 
on  my  knee,  and  the  ranchman's  dog  came  out  to 
join  us ;  but  the  mother  blackbird,  though  she 
came  with  food  in  her  bill  and  started  to  walk 
down  the  branch  over  our  heads,  stopped  short 
of  the  nest  when  her  eye  fell  on  us.  She  shook 
her  tail  and  called  chack,  and  her  mate,  who  sat 
near,  opened  wide  his  bill  and  whistled  chee. 
The  small  birds  were  hungry  and  grew  im- 
patient, seeing  no  cause  for  delay,  so  raised  their 
three  fuzzy  heads  above  the  edge  of  the  nest  and 
sent  imperative  calls  out  of  their  three  empty 
throats.  As  the  parents  did  not  answer  the  sum- 
mons, the  young  dozed  off  again,  but  when  the 
old  ones  did  get  courage  to  light  near  the  nest 
there  was  such  a  rousing  chorus  that  they  flew  off 
alarmed  for  the  safety  of  their  clamorous  brood. 
After  that  outbreak,  it  seemed  as  if  the  mother 
bird  would  never  go  back  to  her  children ;  but 
finally  she  came  to  the  tree  and,  after  edging 
along  falteringly,  lit  on  a  branch  above  them. 
The  instant  she  touched  foot,  however,  she  was 
seized  with  nervous  qualms  and  turned  round 


88  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

and  round,  spreading  her  tail  fan-fashion,  as  if 
distracted. 

To  my  surprise,  it  was  the  father  bird  who  first 
went  to  the  nest,  though  he  had  the  wit  to  go  to 
it  from  the  outside  of  the  tree,  where  he  was  less 
exposed  to  my  dangerous  glance.  I  wondered 
whether  it  was  mother  love  that  kept  her  from 
the  nest  when  he  ventured,  or  merely  a  case  of 
masculine  common-sense  versus  nerves.  How 
birds  could  imagine  more  harm  would  be  done  by 
going  to  the  nest  than  by  making  such  a  fuss  five 
feet  away  from  it  was  a  poser  to  me.  Perhaps 
they  attribute  the  same  intelligence  to  us  that 
some  of  us  do  to  them ! 

While  the  blackbirds  were  making  such  a  time 
over  our  heads,  I  watched  the  hummingbirds 
buzzing  around  the  petunias  and  pink  roses  under 
the  ranch-house  windows,  and  darting  off  to 
flutter  about  the  tubular  flowers  of  the  tobacco- 
tree  by  the  well.  One  day  the  small  boy  of  the 
family  climbed  up  to  the  hummingbird's  nest  in 
the  oak  "  to  see  if  there  were  eggs  yet,"  and  the 
frightened  brood  popped  out  before  his  eyes. 
His  sister  caught  one  of  them  and  brought  it  into 
the  house.  When  she  held  it  up  by  the  open 
door  the  tiny  creature  spread  its  little  wings  and 
flew  out  into  the  vines  over  the  window.  The 
child  was  so  afraid  its  mother  would  not  find  it 
she  carried  it  back  to  its  oak  and  watched  till  the 
mother  came  with  food.  The  hummers  were 


AROUND    OUR    RANCH-HOUSE. 


89 


about  the  flowers  in  front  of  the  windows  so 
much  that  when  the  front  door  was  left  open 
they  often  came  into  the  room. 

In  an  oak  behind  the  barn  I  found  a  humming- 
bird's nest,  and,  yielding  to  temptation,  took  out 
the  eggs  to  look  at  them.  In  putting  them  back 
one  slipped  and  dropped  on  the  hard  ground, 
cracking  the  delicate  pink  shell  as  it  fell.  The 
egg  was  nearly  ready  to  hatch,  and  I  felt  as  guilty 
as  if  having  killed  a  hummingbird. 

When  in  the  hammock  under  the  oak  one  day, 
I  saw  a  pair  of  the  odd-looking  Arizona  hooded 
orioles  busily  going  and  coming  to  a  drooping 
branch  on  the  edge  of 
the  tree.  They  had 
a  great  deal  to  talk 
about  as  they  went 
and  came,  and  when 
they  had  gone  I 
found,  to  my  great 
satisfaction,  that  they 
had  begun  a  nest. 
They  often  use  the 
gray  Spanish  moss, 
but  here  had  found  a 
good  substitute  in  the 
orange-colored  para- 
sitic vine  of  the  mead- 
ows known  among  Baltimore  Oriole  -  Eastern, 
the  people  of  the  Val-  (One  half  natural  size.) 


Arizona  Hooded  Oriole. 
(One  half  natural  size.) 


90  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

ley  as  the  '  love- vine'  (dodder).    The  whole  pocket 
was  composed  of  it,  making  a  very  gaudy  nest. 

Linnets  nested  in  the  same  old  tree.  Indeed, 
it  is  hard  to  say  where  these  pretty  rosy  house 
finches,  cousins  of  our  purple  finches,  would  not 
take  it  into  their  heads  to  build.  They  nested 
over  the  front  door,  in  the  vines  over  the  windows, 
in  the  oaks  and  about  the  outbuildings,  and  their 
happy  musical  songs  rang  around  the  ranch-house 
from  morning  till  night.  As  I  listened  to  their 
merry  roundelay  day  after  day  during  that  beau- 
tiful California  spring,  it  sounded  to  me  as  though 
they  said,  "How-pretty -it-is1 -out,  how-pretty-it-is1  - 
out,  how-pretty-it-is1  !  "  The  linnets  are  ardent 
little  wooers,  singing  and  dancing  before  the  in- 
different birds  they  would  win  for  their  mates. 
I  once  saw  a  rosy  lover  throw  back  his  pretty 
head  and  hop  about  before  his  brown  lady  till 
she  was  out  of  patience  and  turned  her  back  on 
him.  When  that  had  no  effect,  she  opened  her 
bill,  spread  her  wings,  and  leaned  toward  him  as 
if  saying,  "  If  you  don't  stop  your  nonsense, 
I  '11  —  But  the  fond  linnets'  gallantry  and  ten- 
derness are  not  all  spent  in  the  wooing.  When 
the  mother  bird  was  brooding  her  nest  over  our 
front  door,  her  crimson-throated  mate  stood  on  the 
peak  of  the  ridgepole  above  and  sang  blithely  to 
her,  turning  his  head  and  looking  down  every 
little  while  to  make  sure  that  she  was  listening  to 
his  pretty  prattle. 


AROUND    OUR    RANCH-HOUSE.  91 

One  of  the  birds  that  nested  in  the  trees  by 
the  ranch-house  was  the  bee-bird,  who  was  soft 
gray  above  and  delicate  yellow  below,  instead  of 
dark  gray  above  and  shining  white  below,  like  his 
eastern  relative,  the  kingbird.  The  birds  used 
to  perch  on  the  bare  oak  limbs,  flycatching.  It 
was  interesting  to  watch  them.  They  would  fly 
obliquely  into  the  air  and  then  turn,  with  bills 
bristling  with  insects,  and  sail  down  on  out- 
stretched wings,  their  square  tails  set  so  that  the 
white  outer  feathers  showed  to  as  good  advantage 
as  the  white  border  of  the  kingbird's  does  in  sim- 
ilar flights.  They  made  a  bulky  untidy  nest  in 
the  oaks  by  the  barn,  using  a  quantity  of  string 
borrowed  from  the  ranchman.  Their  voices  were 
high-keyed  and  shrill  with  an  impatient  emphasis, 
and  at  a  distance  suggested  the  shrill  yelping  of 
the  coyote.  l£eer-ah,  kee-keef  Jceef-ah,  they  would 
cry.  The  wolves  were  so  often  heard  around  the 
ranch-house  that  in  the  early  morning  I  have 
sometimes  mistaken  the  birds  for  them. 

One  of  the  favorite  hunting-grounds  of  the  bee- 
birds  was  the  orchard,  where  they  must  have  done 
a  great  deal  of  good  destroying  insects.  They 
were  quarrelsome  birds,  and  were  often  seen  fall- 
ing through  the  air  fighting  vigorously.  I  saw 
one  chase  a  sparrow  hawk  and  press  it  so  hard 
that  the  hawk  cried  out  lustily.  The  ranchman's 
son  told  me  of  one  bee-bird  who  defended  his 
nest  with  his  life.  Two  crows  lit  in  a  tree  where 


92  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

the  flycatcher  had  a  nest  containing  eggs.  The 
crows  had  difficulty  in  getting  to  the  tree  to  begin 
with,  for  the  bee-birds  fought  them  off ;  and 
though  they  lighted,  were  soon  dislodged  and 
chased  down  the  vineyard.  The  man  was  at  work 
there,  and  as  the  procession  passed  over  his  head 
the  bee-bird  dove  at  the  crow ;  the  crow  struck 
back  at  him,  crushing  his  skull,  and  the  flycatcher 
dropped  through  the  air,  dead !  The  other  bee- 
bird  followed  its  dead  mate  to  the  ground,  and 
then,  without  a  cry,  flew  to  a  tree  and  let  the 
crows  go  on  their  way. 

The  bee-bird  was  one  of  the  noisiest  birds 
about  the  ranch-house,  but  commoner  than  he ;  in 
fact,  the  most  abundant  bird,  next  to  the  linnet 
and  blackbird,  was  the  California  chewink,  or,  as 
the  ranchman  appropriately  called  him,  the  '  brown 
chippie ;  '  for  he  does  not  look  like  the  handsome 
chewink  we  know,  but  is  a  fat,  dun  brown  bird 
with  a  thin  chip  that  he  utters  on  all  occasions. 
He  is  about  the  size  of  the  eastern  robin,  and, 
except  when  nesting,  almost  as  familiar.  There 
were  brown  chippies  in  the  door-yard,  brown  chip- 
pies around  the  barns,  and  brown  chippies  in  the 
brush  till  one  got  tired  of  the  sight  of  them. 

The  temptations  that  come  to  conscientious 
observers  are  common  to  humanity,  and  one  of 
the  subtlest  is  to  undervalue  what  is  at  hand  and 
overvalue  the  rare  or  distant.  Unless  a  bird  is 
peculiarly  interesting,  it  requires  a  definite  effort 


AROUND    OUR    RANCH-HOUSE. 


93 


California  Chewink. 
(One  half  natural  size.) 


to  sit  down  and  study  him  in  your  own  door- 
yard,  or  where  he  is  so  common  as  to  be  an 
every-day  matter.  The  chippies  were  always  sit- 
ting around,  scratching,  or 
picking  up  seeds ;  or  else 
quarreling  among  them- 
selves. Feeling  that  it  was 
my  duty  to  watch  them,  I 
reasoned  with  myself,  but 
they  seemed  so  mortally 
dull  and  uninteresting  it 
was  hard  work  to  give  up 
any  time  to  them.  When 
they  went  to  nesting,  their  wild  instincts  asserted 
themselves,  and  they  hid  away  so  closely  I  was 
never  sure  of  but  one  of  their  nests,  and  that 
only  by  most  cautious  watch- 
ing. Then  for  the  first  time 
they  became  interesting !  To 
my  surprise,  one  day  I  heard 
a  brown  chippie  lift  up  his 
voice  and  sing.  It  was  in  a 
sunny  grove  of  oaks,  and 
though  his  song  was  a  queer 
squeaky  warble,  it  had  in  it  a 
good  deal  of  sweetness  and 
contentment ;  for  the  bird  seemed  to  find  life  very 
pleasant.  The  ranchman's  son  told  me  that  up 
in  the  canyons  at  dusk  he  had  sometimes  heard 
towhee  concerts,  the  birds  answering  each  other 
from  different  parts  of  the  canyon. 


Eastern  Chewink. 
(One  half  natural  size.) 


94  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

There  was  a  nest  in  the  chaparral  which  prob- 
ably belonged  to  these  chewinks.  It  was  in  a 
mass  of  poison  ivy  that  had  climbed  up  on  a 
scrub-oak.  I  spent  the  best  part  of  a  morning 
waiting  for  the  birds  to  give  in  their  evidence. 
Brown  sentinels  were  posted  on  high  bare  brush 
tops,  where  they  chipped  at  me,  and  once  a  brown 
form  flew  swiftly  away  from  the  nest  bush ;  but 
like  most  people  whose  conversation  is  limited  to 
monosyllables,  the  towhees  are  good  at  keeping  a 
secret.  While  watching  for  them,  I  heard  a  noise 
that  suggested  angry  cats  spitting  at  each  other ; 
and  three  jack-rabbits  came  racing  down  the 
chaparral-covered  knoll.  One  of  them  shot  off 
at  a  tangent  while  the  other  two  trotted  along 
the  openings  in  the  brush  as  if  their  trails  were 
roads  in  a  park.  Then  a  cottontail  rabbit  came 
out  on  a  spot  of  hard  yellow  earth  encircled  by 
bushes,  and  lying  down  on  its  side  kicked  up  its 
heels  and  rolled  like  a  horse ;  after  which  the 
pretty  thing  stretched  itself  full  length  on  the 
ground  to  rest,  showing  a  pink  light  in  its  ears. 
After  a  while  it  got  up,  scratched  one  ear,  and 
with  a  kick  of  one  little  furry  leg  ran  off  in  the 
brush.  Another  day,  when  I  sat  waiting,  I  saw 
a  jack-rabbit's  ears  coming  through  the  brush. 
He  trotted  up  within  a  few  feet,  when  he  stopped, 
facing  me  with  head  and  ears  up ;  a  noble-looking 
little  animal,  reminding  me  of  a  deer  with  antlers 
branching  back.  He  stood  looking  at  me,  not 


AROUND    OUR    RANCH-HOUSE.  95 

knowing  whether  to  be  afraid  or  not,  and  turning 
one  ear  trumpet  and  then  the  other.  But  though 
smiling  at  him,  I  was  a  human  being,  there  was 
no  getting  around  that ;  and  after  a  few  undecided 
hops,  this  way  and  that,  he  ran  off  and  dis- 
appeared in  the  brush.  Near  where  he  had  been 
was  a  spot  where  a  number  of  rabbit  runways  came 
to  a  centre,  and  around  it  the  rabbit  council  had 
been  sitting  in  a  circle,  their  footprints  proved. 

Brown  chippies  were  not  much  commoner 
around  the  ranch-house  than  western  house  wrens 
were,  but  the  big  prosaic  brown  birds  seemed 
much  more  commonplace.  The  wrens  were 
strongly  individual  and  winning  wherever  they 
were  met.  They  nested  in  all  sorts  of  odd  nooks 
and  corners  about  the  buildings.  One  went  so 
far  as  to  take  up  its  abode  in  the  wire-screened 
refrigerator  that  stood  outside  the  kitchen  under 
an  oak !  Another  pair  stowed  their  nest  away  in 
an  old  nose-bag  hanging  on  a  peg  in  the  wine 
shed ;  while  a  third  lived  in  one  of  the  old  grape 
crates  piled  up  in  the  raisin  shed. 

The  crate  nest  was  delightful  to  watch.  The 
jolly  little  birds,  with  tails  over  their  backs  and 
wings  hanging,  would  sing  and  work  close  beside 
me,  only  three  or  four  feet  away.  They  would  look 
up  at  me  with  their  frank  fearless  eyes  and  then 
squeeze  down  through  their  crack  into  the  crate, 
and  sit  and  scold  inside  it  —  such  an  amusing 
muffled  little  scold!  The  nest  was  so  astonish- 


96  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

ingly  large  I  was  interested  to  measure  it.  Twigs 
were  strewn  loosely  over  one  end  of  the  box, 
covering  a  square  nearly  sixteen  inches  on  a  side. 
The  compact  high  body  of  the  nest  measured 
eight  by  ten  inches,  and  came  so  near  the  top 
of  the  crate  that  the  birds  could  just  creep  in 
under  the  slats.  Some  of  the  twigs  were  ten 
inches  long,  regular  broom  handles  in  the  bills  of 
the  short  bobbing  wrens.  One  of  the  birds  once 
appeared  with  a  twig  as  long  as  itself.  It  flew  to 
the  side  of  a  beam  with  it,  at  sight  of  me,  and 
stood  there  balancing  the  stick  in  its  bill,  in 
pretty  fashion.  Another  time  it  flew  to  the  peak 
of  the  shed  to  examine  an  old  swallow's  nest  now 
occupied  by  linnets,  and  amused  itself  throwing 
down  its  neighbors'  straws  —  the  naughty  little 
rogue ! 

Such  jolly  songsters!  They  were  fairly  bub- 
bling over  with  happiness  all  the  time.  They 
had  an  old  stub  in  front  of  the  shed  that  might 
well  have  been  called  the  singing  stub,  for  they 
kept  it  ringing  with  music  when  they  were  not 
running  on  inside  the  shed.  They  seemed  to 
warble  as  easily  as  most  birds  breathe ;  in  fact, 
song  seemed  a  necessity  to  them.  There  was  a 
high  pole  in  front  of  the  shed,  and  one  day  I 
found  my  ebullient  little  friend  squatting  on  top 
to  hold  himself  on  while  he  sang  out  at  the  top  of 
his  lungs !  Another  time  I  came  face  to  face 
with  a  pair  when  the  songster  was  in  the  midst  of 


AROUND    OUR    RANCH-HOUSE.  97 

his  roundelay.  He  stopped  short,  bobbed  ner- 
vously from  side  to  side,  and  then,  rising  to  his 
feet  and  putting  his  right  foot  forward  with  a 
pretty  courageous  gesture,  took  up  his  song  again. 
When  the  pair  were  building  in  the  crate,  I  stuck 
some  white  hen's  feathers  there,  thinking  they 
might  like  to  use  them.  Mr.  Troglodytes  came 
first,  and  seeing  them,  instead  of  turning  tail  as 
I  have  known  brave  guardians  of  the  nest  to  do, 
burst  out  singing,  as  if  it  were  a  huge  joke. 
Then  he  hopped  down  on  the  rim  of  the  box  to 
scrutinize  the  plumes,  after  which  he  flew  out. 
But  he  had  to  stop  to  sing  atilt  of  an  elder  stem 
before  he  could  go  on  to  tell  his  spouse  about 
them. 

One  day,  when  riding  back  to  the  ranch,  I  saw 
half  a  dozen  turkey  buzzards  soaring  over  the 
meadow  —  perhaps  there  was  a  dead  jack-rabbit 
in  the  field.  It  was  astonishing  to  see  how  soon 
the  birds  would  discover  small  carrion  from  their 
great  height.  The  ranchman  never  thought  of 
burying  anything,  they  were  such  good  scaven- 
gers. A  few  hours  after  an  animal  was  thrown 
out  in  the  field  the  vultures  would  find  it.  They 
would  stand  on  the  body  and  pull  it  to  pieces  in 
the  most  revolting  way,  The  ranchman  told  nie 
he  had  seen  them  circle  over  a  pair  of  fighting 
snakes,  waiting  to  devour  the  one  that  was  in- 
jured. They  were  grotesque  birds.  I  often  saw 
them  walk  with  their  wings  held  out  at  their  sides 


98  A-BIRDING    ON  A    BRONCO. 

as  if  cooling  themselves,  and  the  unbird-like  atti- 
tude together  with  the  horrid  appearance  of  their 
red  skinny  heads  made  them  seem  more  like  har- 
pies than  before. 

They  were  most  interesting  at  a  distance.  I 
once  saw  three  of  them  standing  like  black  im- 
ages on  a  granite  bowlder,  on  top  of  a  hill  over- 
looking the  valley.  After  a  moment  they  set  out 
and  went  circling  in  the  sky.  Although  they 
flew  in  a  group,  it  seemed  as  if  the  individual 
birds  respected  one  another's  lines  so  as  not  to 
cover  the  same  ground.  Sometimes  when  soaring 
they  seemed  to  rest  on  the  air  and  let  themselves 
be  borne  by  the  wind ;  for  they  wobbled  from 
one  side  to  the  other  like  a  cork  on  rough  water. 

One  of  the  most  interesting  birds  of  the  valley 
is  the  road-runner  or  chaparral  cock,  a  grayish 
brown  bird  who  stands  almost  as  high  as  a  crow 
and  has  a  tail  as  long  as  a  magpie's.  He  is  noted 
for  his  swiftness  of  foot.  Sometimes,  when  we 
were  driving  over  the  hills,  a  road-runner  would 
start  out  of  the  brush  on  a  lonely  part  of  the 
road  and  for  quite  a  distance  keep  ahead  of  the 
horses,  although  they  trotted  freely  along.  When 
tired  of  running  he  would  dash  off  into  the  brush, 
where  he  stopped  himself  by  suddenly  throwing 
his  long  tail  over  his  back.  A  Texan,  in  talking 
of  the  bird,  said,  "It  takes  a  right  peart  cur  to 
catch  one,"  and  added  that  when  a  road-runner  is 
chased  he  will  rise  but  once,  for  his  main  reliance 


AROUND    OUR    RANCH-HOUSE. 


99 


Valley  Quail  and  Road-Runner. 

is  in  his  running,  and  he  does  not  trust  much  to 
his  short  wings.  The  chaparral  cocks  nested  in 
the  cactus  on  our  hills,  and  were  said  to  live 
largely  on  lizards  and  horned  toads. 

It  became  evident  that  a  pair  of  these  singular 
birds  had  taken  up  quarters  in  the  chaparral  on 


100  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

the  hillside  back  of  the  ranch-house,  for  one  of 
them  was  often  seen  with  the  hens  in  the  door- 
yard.  One  day  I  was  talking  to  the  ranchman 
when  the  road-runner  appeared.  He  paid  no 
attention  to  us,  but  went  straight  to  the  hen- 
house, apparently  to  get  cocoons.  Looking  be- 
tween the  laths,  I  could  see  him  at  work.  He 
flew  up  on  the  hen-roosts  as  if  quite  at  home  ;  he 
had  been  there  before  and  knew  the  ways  of  the 
house.  He  even  dashed  into  the  peak  of  the  roof 
and  brought  down  the  white  cocoon  balls  dangling 
with  cobweb.  When  he  had  finished  his  hunt 
he  stood  in  the  doorway,  and  a  pair  of  blackbirds 
lit  on  the  fence  post  over  his  head,  looking  down 
at  him  wonderingly.  Was  he  a  new  kind  of 
hen  ?  He  was  almost  as  big  as  a  bantam.  They 
sat  and  looked  at  him,  and  he  stood  and  stared  at 
them  till  all  three  were  satisfied,  when  the  black- 
birds flew  off  and  the  road-runner  walked  out  by 
the  kitchen  to  hunt  among  the  buckets  for  food. 

These  curious  birds  seem  to  be  of  an  inquiring 
turn  of  mind,  and  sometimes  their  investigations 
end  sadly.  The  windmills,  which  are  a  new  thing 
in  this  dry  land,  naturally  stimulate  their  curios- 
ity. A  small  boy  from  the  neighboring  town 
—  Escondido  —  told  me  that  he  had  known  four 
road-runners  to  get  drowned  in  one  tank ;  though 
he  corrected  himself  afterwards  by  saying,  "  We 
fished  out  one  before  he  got  drowned !  " 

Another  lad  told  me  he  had  seen  road-runners 


AROUND    OUR    RANCH-HOUSE.         101 

in  the  nesting  season  call  for  their  mates  on  the 
hills.  He  had  seen  one  stand  on  a  bowlder  fif- 
teen feet  high,  and  after  strutting  up  and  down 
the  rock  with  his  tail  and  wings  hanging,  stop  to 
call,  putting  his  bill  down  on  the  rock  and  going- 
through  contortions  as  if  pumping  out  the  sound. 
The  lad  thought  his  calls  were  answered  from  the 
brush  below. 

In  April  the  ranchman  reported  that  he  had 
seen  dusky  poor-wills,  relatives  of  our  whip-poor- 
wills,  out  flycatching  on  the  road  beyond  the 
ranch-house  after  dark.  He  had  seen  as  many  as 
eight  or  nine  at  once,  and  they  had  let  him  come 
within  three  feet  of  them.  Accordingly,  one  night 
right  after  tea  I  started  out  to  see  them.  The 
poor-wills  choose  the  most  beautiful  part  of  the 
twenty-four  hours  for  their  activity.  When  I 
went  out,  the  sky  above  the  dark  wall  of  the  val- 
ley was  a  quiet  greenish  yellow,  and  the  rosy 
light  was  fading  in  the  north  at  the  head  of  the 
canyon.  White  masses  of  fog  pushed,  in  from 
the  ocean.  Then  the  constellations  dawned  and 
brightened  till  the  evening  star  shone  out  in  her 
full  radiant  beauty.  Locusts  and  crickets  droned ; 
bats  zigzagged  overhead  ;  and  suddenly  from  the 
dusty  road  some  black  objects  started  up,  fluttered 
low  over  the  barley,  and  dropped  back  on  the 
road  again.  At  the  same  time  came  the  call  of 
the  poor-will,  which,  close  at  hand,  is  a  soft  burr- 
ing poor-will,  poor-wiU-low.  Two  or  three  hours 


102  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

later  I  went  out  again.  The  full  moon  had  risen, 
and  shone  down,  transforming  the  landscape. 
The  road  was  a  narrow  line  between  silvered 
fields  of  headed  grain,  and  the  granite  bowlders 
gleamed  white  on  the  hills  inclosing  the  sleeping 
valley.  For  a  few  moments  the  shrill  barking  of 
coyote  wolves  disturbed  the  stillness  ;  then  again 
the  night  became  silent ;  peace  rested  upon  the 
valley,  and  from  far  up  the  canyon  came  the  faint, 
sad  cry,  poor-wil'-low,  poor-toil* -low. 


VIII. 

POCKET   MAKERS. 

THE  bush-tits  are  cousins  of  the  eastern  chick- 
adees, which  is  reason  enough  for  liking  them, 
although  the  California  fruit  growers  have  a  more 
substantial  reason  in  the  way  the  birds  eat  the 
scale  that  injures  the  olive-trees.  The  bush-tits 
might  be  the  little  sisters  of  the  chickadee  family, 
they  are  so  small.  They  look  like  gray  balls 
with  long  tails  attached,  for  they  are  plump  fluffy 
tots,  no  bigger  than  your  thumb,  without  their 
tails.  One  of  them,  when  preoccupied,  once  came 
within  three  feet  of  where  I  stood.  When  he 
discovered  me  a  comical  look  of  surprise  came 
into  his  yellow  eyes  and  he  went  tilting  off,  for 
his  long  tail  gave  him  a  pitching  flight  as  if  he 
were  about  to  go  on  his  bill,  a  flight  that  re- 
minds one  of  the  tail  that  wagged  the  dog. 

There  were  so  many  of  the  gray  pocket  nests 
in  the  oaks  that  it  was  hard  to  choose  which  to 
watch,  but  one  of  the  most  interesting  hung  from 
a  branch  of  the  big  double  oak  of  the  gnat- 
catchers,  above  the  ranch-house,  where  I  could 
see  it  when  sitting  in  the  crotch  of  the  tree. 
While  watching  it  I  looked  beyond  over  the  chap- 


104 


A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 


Nest  of  the  Bush-tit. 


arral  wall  away  to  a  dark  purple  peak  standing 
against  a  sky  flecked  with  sun- whitened  clouds. 
The  nest  was  like  an  oriole's,  but  nearly  twice  as 
long,  though  the  builders  were  less  than  half  the 
size  of  the  orioles.  Instead  of  being  open  at  the 


POCKET   MAKERS.  105 

top,  it  was  roofed  over,  and  the  only  entrance  was 
a  small  round  hole,  the  girth  of  the  bird,  about 
two  inches  under  the  roof. 

One  might  imagine  that  such  big  houses  would 
be  dark  with  only  one  small  dormer  window,  and 
the  valley  children  assured  me  that  the  birds 
hung  living  firefly  lamps  on.  their  walls  !  I  sug- 
gested that  a  Society  for  the  Prevention  of  Cru- 
elty to  Fireflies  would  be  needed  if  that  were  the 
case ;  but  when  it  comes  to  that,  what  bird  would 
choose  to  brood  by  gaslight  ? 

When  I  first  saw  the  bush-tit  in  its  round  door- 
way, it  suggested  -Jack  Horner's  famous  plum, 
comical  little  ball  of  feathers !  When  first  watch- 
ing the  nest  the  small  pair  put  me  on  their  list 
of  enemies,  along  with  small  boys,  blue  jays,  and 
owls.  To  go  down  into  the  pocket  under  my 
stare  seemed  a  terrible  thing.  When  one  of  them 
came  with  a  bit  of  moss  for  lining,  it  started  for 
the  front  door,  saw  me,  stopped,  and  turned  to 
go  to  the  back  of  the  nest.  Then  it  tried  to  get 
up  courage  to  approach  the  house  from  the  side, 
got  in  a  panic  and  dashed  against  the  wall  as  if 
expecting  a  door  would  open  for  it.  When  at 
last  it  did  make  bold  to  dart  into  the  nest  it  was 
struck  with  terror,  and,  whisking  around,  jabbed 
the  moss  into  the  outside  wall  and  fled ! 

Seeing  that  nothing  awful  happened,  the  birds 
finally  took  me  off  the  black  list  and  allowed  me 
to  oversee  their  work,  as  long  as  I  gave  no 


106  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

directions.  Sometimes  both  little  tots  went  down 
into  the  bag  to  work  together ;  surely  there  was 
plenty  of  room  for  many  such  as  they.  But  it 
is  not  always  a  matter  of  cubic  inches,  and  one 
morning  when  the  second  bird  was  about  to  pop 
in,  apparently  it  was  advised  to  wait  a  minute. 
There  was  no  ill  feeling,  though,  for  when  the 
small  builder  came  out  it  flew  to  the  twig  in 
front  of  the  door,  where  its  mate  was  waiting, 
and  sat  down  beside  it,  a  little  Darby  by  his 
Joan. 

They  worked  busily.  Sometimes  they  popped 
in  only  to  pop  out  again ;  at  other  times  they 
stayed  inside  as  long  as  if  they  had  been  human 
housekeepers,  hanging  pictures,  straightening 
chairs,  and  setting  their  bric-a-brac  in  order  for 
the  fortieth  time ;  each  change  requiring  mature 
deliberation. 

One  morning  —  after  the  birds  had  been  put- 
ting in  lining  long  enough  to  have  wadded  half  a 
dozen  nests  —  if  my  judgment  is  of  any  value  in 
such  matters  —  I  discovered  that  the  roof  was 
falling  in ;  it  was  almost  on  top  of  the  front  door ! 
The  next  day,  to  my  dismay,  the  door  had  van- 
ished. What  was  the  trouble  ?  Were  the  pretty 
pair  young  builders ;  was  this  their  first  nest,  and 
had  they  paid  more  attention  to  decorating  their 
house  inside  than  to  laying  strong  foundations; 
or  had  their  pocket  been  too  heavy  for  its  frame  ? 

However   it   came   about,  the  wise  birds  con- 


POCKET   MAKERS.  107 

eluded  that  they  would  not  waste  time  crying 
over  spilt  milk.  They  calmly  went  to  work  to 
tear  the  first  nest  to  pieces  and  build  a  second 
one  out  of  it.  One  of  them  tweaked  out  its  board 
with  such  a  jerk  it  sent  the  pocket  swinging  like 
a  pendulum.  But  the  next  time  it  wisely  planted 
its  claw  firmly  to  steady  itself,  while  it  cautiously 
pulled  the  material  out  with  its  bill. 

If  the  birds  were  inexperienced,  they  were 
bright  enough  to  profit  by  experience.  This  time 
they  hung  their  nest  between  the  forks  of  a  strong 
twig  which  had  a  cross  twig  to  support  the  roof, 
so  that  the  accident  that  had  befallen  them  could 
not  possibly  occur  again.  They  began  work  at 
the  top,  holding  onto  the  twig  with  their  claws 
and  swinging  themselves  down  inside  to  put  in 
their  material ;  and  they  moulded  and  shaped  the 
pocket  as  they  went  along. 

After  watching  the  progress  of  the  new  nest,  I 
went  to  see  what  had  become  of  the  old  one.  It 
was  on  the  ground.  On  taking  it  home  and  pull- 
ing it  to  pieces,  I  found  that  the  wall  was  from 
half  an  inch  to  an  inch  thick,  made  of  fine  gray 
moss  and  oak  blossoms.  There  was  a  thick  wad- 
ding of  feathers  inside.  I  counted  three  hundred, 
and  there  were  a  great  many  more !  The  amount 
of  hard  labor  this  stood  for  amazed  me.  No 
wonder  the  nest  pulled  down,  with  a  whole  feather- 
bed inside !  Why  had  they  put  it  in  ?  I  asked 
some  children,  and  one  said,  "  To  keep  the  eggs 


108  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

warm,  I  guess ;  "  while  the  other  suggested,  "  So 
the  eggs  would  n't  break."  Most  of  the  feathers 
were  small,  but  there  must  have  been  several 
dozen  chicken's  feathers  from  two  to  three  inches 
long.  Among  them  was  a  plume  of  an  owl. 

Much  to  my  surprise,  in  the  bush-tit's  nest 
there  was  a  broken  eggshell.  Had  the  egg  broken 
in  falling,  or  had  a  snake  been  there?  One  of 
the  boys  of  the  valley  told  me  about  seeing  a 
racer  snake  go  into  a  bush-tit's  pocket.  The  cries 
of  the  birds  rallied  several  other  pairs,  and  they 
all  flew  about  in  distress,  though  not  one  of  them 
dared  touch  the  dreadful  tail  that  hung  out  of 
the  nest  hole.  As  the  snake  was  about  three  feet 
long,  the  pocket  bulged  as  it  moved  around  inside. 
There  were  four  nestlings  about  a  quarter  grown, 
and  the  relentless  creature  devoured  them  all. 
The  boy  waited  below  with  a  stick,  and  when  it 
came  out,  killed  it  and  shook  it  by  the  tail  till 
the  small  birds  popped  out  of  its  mouth.  If  my 
broken  eggshell  pointed  to  any  such  tragedy,  it 
cleared  the  birds  of  the  accusation  of  being  poor 
builders. 

The  nest,  which  the  first  day  was  a  filmy  spot 
in  the  leaves,  by  the  next  day  had  become  a 
gray  pocket  over  eight  inches  long,  although  I 
could  still  see  daylight  through  it.  In  working, 
the  birds  flew  to  the  top  of  the  open  bag  and 
hopped  down  inside.  I  could  see  the  pocket 
shake  and  bulge  as  they  worked  within.  When 


POCKET    NEST    IN    AN    OAK 


POCKET    MAKERS.  109 

they  flew  away  to  any  distance,  on  their  return 
they  almost  always  came  with  their  little  call  of 
schrit,  schrit. 

This  nest  was  so  low  that  I  used  to  throw  my- 
self on  the  sand  beneath  the  tree  to  watch  it,  tak- 
ing many  a  sunbath  there,  with  hat  drawn  down 
till  I  could  just  see  the  nest  in  the  pendent 
branches,  and  watch  the  changing  mosaics  made 
by  the  sky  through  the  moving  leaves.  When 
resting  on  the  sand  the  thought  of  rattlesnakes 
came  to  me,  for  the  brush  on  either  side  was  a 
shelter  for  them,  and  they  might  easily  have 
crept  up  beside  me  without  my  hearing  them. 

The  second  bush-tit's  nest  was  shorter  than  the 
first  one.  Perhaps  the  builders  thought  the 
length  had  something  to  do  with  the  fall  of  the 
first ;  or  perhaps  they  did  n't  feel  like  collecting 
three  hundred  more  feathers,  with  oak  blossoms 
and  moss  to  match.  They  first  put  the  frame  of 
the  front  door  below  the  supporting  cross  twig, 
and  then,  as  if  they  thought  it  needed  more  sup- 
port, changed  it  and  put  the  door  above  the  twig, 
so  that  the  roof  could  not  possibly  close  the  hole, 
even  if  it  did  fall  in.  The  doorway  was  also 
made  much  larger  than  that  of  the  first  nest. 

After  making  away  with  the  old  nest,  my  con- 
science smote  me.  Pffhaps  the  little  pocket 
makers  were  not  through  with  it,  even  if  it  was 
on  the  ground ;  so  I  brought  a  piece  of  it  back 
and  tied  it  with  a  grass  stem  to  a  twig  below  the 


110  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

nest  they  were  at  work  on,  to  save  them  as  much 
trouble  as  might  be.  When  my  bird  came,  her 
bright  eyes  were  quick  to  espy  the  old  nest.  She 
looked  around,  bewildered,  as  if  wondering 
whether  she  was  really  awake,  and  making  sure 
that  this  strange  looking  affair  were  not  her  sec- 
ond nest,  come  to  grief  in  her  absence.  Being 
reassured  by  her  examination,  she  came  back 
and  hopped  from  twig  to  twig  inspecting  the  old 
piece  of  nest.  At  last  she  caught  sight  of  a 
feather.  That,  apparently,  was  just  what  she 
wanted.  She  quickly  flew  over,  pulled  out  the 
white  plume,  and  went  straight  to  the  new  house 
with  it ! 

I  was  not  able  to  watch  any  of  my  bush-tits 
through  the  season,  that  year,  but  five  years  later, 
when  again  in  southern  California,  to  my  delight 
I  found  the  tits  building  in  almost  the  same  tree 
where  they  had  been  before. 

One  day  an  interesting  brood  was  out  in  the 
brush,  and  I  took  notes  on  their  proceedings : 
"A  family  of  young  were  abroad  this  morning 
filling  the  leaves  with  their  little  moving  forms, 
and  the  air  with  their  fledgling  cry  of  schrit. 
As  nearly  as  I  could  judge,  there  were  ten  in  the 
family  —  eight  young  tagging  after  two  old  birds. 
While  I  watched,  a  drolfrthing  happened,  proving 
that  a  family  of  eight  may  affect  a  parent's  break- 
fast as  well  as  his  nerves.  One  of  the  family, 
which  I  took  to  be  the  father  bird,  had  some  goody 


POCKET   MAKERS.  Ill 

in  his  bill,  and  one  of  the  young,  presumably,  fol- 
lowed him  for  it,  flying  up  on  his  twig.  The  old 
bird  turned  his  back  upon  the  little  one  and  went 
on  shaking  the  grub.  Presently  a  second  one  flew 
down  on  the  other  side  of  him,  —  he  was  between 
two  fires ;  they  touched  him  on  both  sides.  I 
watched  with  interest  to  see  what  he  would  do 
about  it,  and  was  much  amused  when  he  opened 
his  wings  and  flew  up  over  their  heads  out  of 
reach !  Would  he  come  back  to  feed  them  after 
his  food  was  properly  prepared  ?  No,  —  he  sat 
up  on  the  branch  and  ate  the  morsel  himself !  I 
was  rather  shocked  by  such  a  deliberate  pro- 
ceeding, but  then  it  occurred  to  me  that  parent 
birds  have  to  take  a  bite  themselves  once  in  a 
while ;  though  of  course  their  business  is  to  feed 
the  children!  " 


IX. 

THE    BIG    SYCAMORE. 

BEFORE  going  home  from  my  morning  sessions 
with  the  little  lover  and  other  feathered  friends, 
I  often  took  a  gallop  at  the  foot  of  the  hills  to 
visit  a  gigantic  old  tree,  the  king  of  the  valley. 
One  such  ride  is  especially  marked  in  my  mem- 
ory. It  was  on  one  of  California's  most  perfect 
mornings.  When  the  sun  had  risen  over  the  val- 
ley, the  fog  dissolved  before  it,  sinking  away  until 
only  small  white  clouds  were  left  in  the  tender 
blue  of  the  notches  between  the  red  hills  ;  while 
the  bared  vault  ^  overhead  had  that  pure,  deep, 
satisfying  color  peculiar  to  fog-cleared  skies ;  and 
the  cool  fresh  air  was  full  of  exhilaration.  It  put 
Mountain  Billy  so  in  tune  with  the  morning  that, 
when  I  chirrupped  to  him,  shaking  the  reins  on 
his  neck,  he  quickly  broke  into  a  lope  and  his 
ringing  hoofs  beat  time  to  my  song  as  we  sped 
down  the  valley,  past  vineyards  and  orchards  and 
yellow  fields  of  ripening  grain.  The  free  swift 
motion  was  a  delight  in  itself,  and  after  days  and 
weeks  given  to  the  details  of  nest-making,  shut 
away  from  the  world  in  our  little  remote  valley 
at  the  foot  of  the  mountains,  now,  when  we  came 


THE    BIG    SYCAMORE.  113 

to  a  break  in  the  hills  and  our  nostrils  were 
greeted  by  the  cool  salt  breeze  coming  from  the 
Pacific,  suddenly  the  whole  horizon  broadened ; 
the  inclosing  valley  walls  were  overlooked ;  we 
were  galloping  under  the  high  arching  heavens 
in  a  wind  blowing  from  far  over  the  wide  ocean. 

Here  stood  the  great  sycamore,  with  branches 
swaying ;  for  the  tree  faced  this  break  in  the  hills. 
It  seemed  as  if  the  old  monarch,  with  roots  firmly 
planted,  had  battled  for  its  ground ;  and  now, 
as  a  conqueror,  stood  with  arms  uplifted  to  meet 
the  ocean  gales.  I  had  never  before  appreciated 
the  dignity  of  those  straight  upreared  shafts,  the 
vital  strength  of  those  deep  grappling  roots,  the 
mighty  grandeur  of  this  old  battle  king. 

When  one  of  the  trunks  fell,  I  had  to  hunt  the 
sycamore  over  to  find  where  it  came  from,  not 
missing  it  in  the  massive  framework  that  was 
left.  The  giant  measured  twenty-three  feet  and 
a  half  in  circumference,  three  feet  from  the 
ground.  Its  enormous  branches  stretched  out 
horizontally  so  far  that,  between  the  body  of  the 
tree  and  the  tips  that  hung  to  the  earth,  there 
was  a  wide  corridor  where  one  could  promenade 
on  horseback.  In  fact,  the  tree  spanned,  from 
the  tip  of  one  branch  to  the  tip  of  the  other,  one 
hundred  and  fifty-eight  feet.  In  the  photograph, 
the  figure  of  a  person  is  almost  lost  in  the  com- 
plicated network  of  the  frame  of  the  tree.  The 
treetop  was  a  grove  in  itself.  A  flock  of  black- 


114  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

birds  flying  up  into  it  was  lost  among  the 
branches. 

The  ranchman  knew  the  sycamore  as  the  '  swal- 
low tree/  because  in  former  years,  before  the  val- 
ley was  settled,  swallows  that  have  since  taken 
to  barns  built  there.  Between  three  and  four 
hundred  of  them  plastered  their  nests  on  the 
underside  of  the  big  limbs,  about  half  way  up 
the  tree,  where  the  bark  was  rough.  They  built 
so  close  together  that  the  nests  made  a  solid  mass 
of  mud.  For  several  seasons,  it  was  said,  "  they 
had  bad  luck."  They  began  building  before  the 
rainy  season  was  over,  and  all  but  a  few  dozen 
nests  which  were  in  especially  protected  places 
were  swept  away.  The  number  of  nests  was  so 
enormous  that  the  ground  was  covered  several 
inches  deep  with  mud. 

Billy  used  to  improve  his  time  by  nibbling 
barley  while  I  watched  birds  in  the  sycamore 
corridor.  We  had  not  been  there  long  before  I 
discovered  a  bee's  nest  in  the  hollow  of  one  of  the 
trunks.  The  owners  were  busily  flying  in  and 
out,  and  a  pair  of  big  bee-birds  flew  down  from 
their  nest  in  the  treetop  and  saved  themselves 
trouble  by  lunching  at  this  convenient  ground 
floor  restaurant.  As  I  sat  on  Billy,  facing  the 
nest,  one  of  the  pair  swept  down  over  the 
mouth  of  the  hole,  caught  a  bee  and  settled  back 
on  the  branch  to  swallow  it.  This  seemed  to  be 
the  regular  performance,  and  was  kept  up  so 


THE    BIG    SYCAMORE.  115 

continuously,  even  when  we  were  standing  close 
by,  that  if,  as  is  supposed,  the  birds  eat  only 
drones,  few  but  workers  would  be  left  in  that 
hive. 

The  flycatchers  seemed  well  suited  to  the  syca- 
more ;  they  were  birds  of  large  ideas  and  sweep- 
ing flights.  Their  nest  was  at  the  top  of  the 
tree,  probably  eighty  feet  from  the  ground,  but 
when  one  of  them  flew  down,  instead  of  coming 
a  branch  at  a  time,  he  would  set  his  wings  and, 
giving  a  loud  cry,  —  as  a  child  shouts  when  push- 
ing off  his  sled  at  the  top  of  a  steep  hill,  —  he 
would  sail  obliquely  down  from  the  treetop  to 
the  foot  of  the  hillside  beyond.  When  looking 
for  his  material  he  would  hover  over  the  field 
like  a  phoebe.  Then,  on  returning,  unlike  the 
other  birds  who  lived  in  the  tree  and  used  the 
branches  as  ladders,  he  would  start  from  the 
ground  and  with  labored  flights  climb  obliquely 
up  the  air  to  the  treetop.  Once  his  material 
dangled  a  foot  behind  him.  The  birds  seemed  to 
enjoy  these  great  flights. 

Their  nest  was  not  finished,  and  while  one 
went  for  material,  the  other  —  presumably  the 
male  —  guarded  the  nest.  As  there  was  nothing 
to  guard  as  yet,  it  often  seemed  a  matter  of 
venting  his  own  spleen !  When  not  occupied  in 
arranging  his  plumes,  he  would  shoot  down  at 
every  small  bird  that  came  upstairs ;  a  cowardly 
proceeding,  but  perhaps  he  thought  it  necessary 


116  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

to  keep  his  hand  in  against  meeting  bigger  boys 
than  he!  When  coming  with  material,  one  of 
the  bee-birds  got  caught  in  It  heavy  rope  of  cob- 
web that  dangled  from  the  nest,  and  had  to  flut- 
ter hard  to  extricate  itself.  About  their  nests 
these  birds  seemed  as  home-loving  as  any  others. 
Their  domesticity  quite  surprised  me ;  they  had 
always  seemed  such  harsh,  scolding,  aggressive 
birds !  When  one  of  them  sat  among  the  green 
leaves,  pluming  the  soft  sulphur  yellow  feathers 
of  its  breast,  it  looked  so  gentle  and  attractive 
that  it  was  a  shock  when  the  familiar  petulant 
screams  again  jarred  the  air.  The  birds  often 
hunted  from  the  fence  beyond  the  sycamore, 
and  flew  from  post  to  post  with  legs  dangling, 
shaking  their  wings  as  they  lit,  with  a  shrill 
kit1  r!  rf  rr  rr. 

The  sycamore  was  a  regular  apartment  house ; 
so  many  birds  were  moving  among  the  boughs 
it  was  impossible  to  tell  where  they  all  lived. 
One  day  I  found  a  pair  of  doves  sitting  on  a 
sunny  branch  above  me.  The  one  I  took  to  be 
the  male  sat  perched  crosswise,  while  his  mate  sat 
facing  him,  lengthwise  of  the  limb.  He  calmly 
fluffed  out  his  feathers  and  preened  himself, 
while  his  meek  spouse  watched  him.  She  flut- 
tered her  wings,  teasing  him  to  feed  her,  but  he 
kept  on  dressing  out  his  plumes.  Then  she  edged 
a  little  closer,  and  almost  essayed  to  touch  his 
majesty  with  her  pretty  blue  bill,  but  he  sat  with 


THE    RIG    SYCAMORE.  117 

lordly  composure  quite  ignoring  her  existence  till 
a  blackbird  bustled  up,  when  they  both  started 
nervously,  and  turning,  sat  demurely  side  by  side 
on  the  limb,  the  wind  tilting  their  long  tails. 

A  pair  of  bright  orange  orioles  had  a  nest  in 
the  sycamore,  though  I  never  should  have  known 
it  had  I  not  seen  them  go  to  it  to  feed  their 
young.  It  was  a  well  shaded  cradle  surely,  with 
its  canopy  of  big  green  leaves. 

There  were  a  good  many  hints  to  be  had,  first 
and  last.  A  song  sparrow  appeared  and  stood 
on  a  branch  with  its  tail  perked  up  in  a  business- 
like way  as  if  it  had  been  feeding  a  brood.  A 
wren  came  to  the  tree,  —  a  mere  pinch  of  feathers 
in  the  giant  sycamore,  —  and  though  I  lost  sight 
of  it,  many  a  hollow  up  in  the  fourteenth  story 
might  have  afforded  a  home  for  the  pretty  dear 
without  any  one's  being  the  wiser,  unless  it  were 
the  bee-bird  in  the  attic.  A  family  of  bush-tits 
flew  about  in  the  sycamore  top,  looking  like  pin- 
heads  in  a  grove  of  trees.  A  black  phcebe  some- 
times lit  on  the  fence  posts  under  the  branches 
—  it  wanted  to  find  a  nesting  place  about  the 
windmill  in  the  opposite  field,  I  felt  sure,  though 
a  boy  had  told  me  that  the  bird  sometimes  plas- 
tered its  nest  onto  the  branches  of  the  big  tree 
itself.  Besides  all  the  rest,  rosy  linnets  and  blue 
lazuli  buntings  made  the  old  tree  ring  with  their 
musical  roundelays. 

One  day  when  I  rode  down  to  the  sycamore, 


118  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

the  meadow  bordering  it  was  full  of  ha}^cocks, 
and  a  rabbit  ran  out  from  under  one  of  them, 
frightened  by  the  clatter  of  Billy's  hoofs.  That 
morning  the  tree  was  fairly  alive  with  blackbirds 
and  doves  —  what  a  deafening  medley  the  black- 
birds made!  In  the  fields  near  the  sycamore 
flocks  of  redwings  went  swinging  over  the  tall 
gleaming  mustard.  This  was  a  great  place  for 
blackbirds,  for  tlie  big  tree  was  on  the  edge  of 
the  one  piece  of  marsh  land  in  the  valley,  and 
they  were  quick  to  take  advantage  of  its  reeds 
for  nesting  places. 

The  cienaga  —  as  they  called  the  swamp  —  was 
used  as  a  pasture.  It  was  pleasant  to  look  out 
upon,  from  under  the  branches  of  the  great  tree. 
A  group  of  horses  stood  in  the  shade  of  a  cluster 
of  oaks  on  the  farther  side  of  it,  while  the  cows, 
a  beautiful  herd  of  buff  and  white  Guernseys, 
waded  through  the  swamp  grass  to  drink  near 
the  sycamore,  and  the  blackbirds  wound  in  and 
out  among  them.  I  had  been  in  a  dry  land  so 
long  it  was  hard  to  believe  there  was  actual 
water  in  the  marsh  till  I  saw  it  drip  from  their 
chins  and  heard  the  sucking  sound  as  they 
laboriously  dragged  their  feet  out  of  the  mud  —  a 
noise  that  took  me  back  to  eastern  pastures, 
but  sounded  strangely  unfamiliar  here  in  this 
rainless  land.  One  of  the  pretty  Guernseys  with 
a  white  star  in  her  forehead  strayed  up  under 
the  tree,  and  the  shadows  of  the  leaves  moved 


THE    BIG    SYCAMORE.  119 

over  her  as  she  raised  her  sensitive  face  to  see 
who  was  there. 

The  son  of  the  ranchman  who  owned  the  dairy 
—  the  one  who  invited  me  down  to  see  the  play 
between  his  dog  Romulus  and  the  burrowing 
owl  —  said  that  when  herding  cows  by  the  syca- 
more he  once  caught  sight  of  a  coyote  wolf.  He 
clapped  his  hands  to  send  his  dog,  Romulus, 
after  the  wolf ;  and  the  noise  frightened  the 
wild  creature  so  that  he  started  to  run  up  the 
hill  across  the  road  from  the  sycamore.  Romulus 
followed  hard  at  his  heels  till  they  got  well  up 
the  hillside,  when  the  coyote  felt  that  he  was 
on  his  own  ground  and  turned  on  the  dog,  who 
fled  back  to  his  master  with  his  tail  between  his 
legs.  The  lad,  clapping  his  hands,  set  the  dog 
011  the  coyote  again,  and  this  animated  but  blood- 
less performance  was  repeated  and  kept  up  till 
both  were  tired  out,  the  animals  chasing  each 
other  back  and  forth  from  the  sycamore  to  the 
hillside  with  as  ihuch  energy  and  perhaps  as 
much  courage  as  was  displayed  by  that  historic 
king  of  France  who  had  five  thousand  men  and  — 

"  .  .  .  marched  them  up  a  hill  and  then 
He  marched  them  down  again." 

On  one  side  of  the  sycamore  was  a  great  wall 
of  weeds  higher  than  my  head  when  on  horse- 
back ;  a  dense  mass  of  yellow  mustard,  and 
fragrant  wild  celery  which  was  covered  with 


120  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

delicate  white  bloom.  I  saw  blackbirds  carry- 
ing material  into  this  thicket,  but  as  I  had 
known  of  neighbors'  horses  getting  bitten  by 
rattlesnakes  among  the  high  weeds,  did  not 
think  it  worth  while  to  wade  around  in  it  much 
for  such  common  birds  as  they.  But  one  day, 
seeing  a  pair  of  rare  blue  grosbeaks  fly  down 
into  the  tangle,  I  turned  Billy  right  in  after 
them,  though  holding  his  head  well  up  in  con- 
sideration of  the  snakes.  The  birds  vanished, 
so  we  stood  still  to  wait.  Suddenly  I  heard  a 
slight  sound  as  of  something  slipping  through 
the  weeds  at  Billy's  feet,  and  looking  down  saw 
a  snake  marked  like  a  rattler ;  and  as  it  slid  by 
Billy's  hoof  I  noticed  with  horror  that  the  end 
of  its  tail  was  blunt  —  the  harmless  gopher  snake 
that  resembles  the  rattler  has  a  tapering  tail! 
I  gazed  at  it  spellbound,  but  in  the  dim  light 
could  not  make  out  whether  it  had  rattles  or  not. 
I  had  seen  enough,  however,  and  whipping  up 
Billy  was  out  of  those  weeds  in  a  hurry.  Safely 
outside,  I  looked  at  my  little  horse  remorsefully 
—  what  if  my  desire  to  see  a  new  nest  had  been 
the  cause  of  his  getting  a  rattlesnake  bite ! 

The  next  day  when  I  went  down  to  the  syca- 
more a  German  was  mowing  there  with  a  pair 
of  mules.  He  was  a  typical  Rhinelander,  with 
blue  eyes  and  long  curling  hair  and  beard, 
and  as  he  drove  he  sang  in  a  deep  rich  voice 
one  of  the  beautiful  melodies  of  his  fatherland. 


THE    BIG    SYCAMORE.  121 

Screened  by  the  branches,  I  listened  quite  un- 
mindful of  my  work  till  my  reverie  was  inter- 
rupted by  the  man's  giving  a  harsh  cry  to  his 
mules.  It  was  only  an  aside,  however,  for  he 
dropped  back  into  his  song  in  the  same  rich 
sympathetic  voice. 

In  riding  out  from  the  tree  on  my  way  home, 
I  saw  that  he  was  mowing  just  where  the  snake 
had  been,  and  warned  him  to  be  careful  lest  the 
horses  get  bitten.  At  the  word  rattlesnake  his 
blue  eyes  dilated,  and  he  assured  me  that  he 
would  be  on  his  guard.  Seeing  my  glasses  and 
note-book,  he  asked  if  I  were  studying  birds. 
When  told  that  I  was,  from  his  seat  on  the 
mowing-machine  he  took  off  his  hat  and  bowed 
with  the  air  of  a  lord,  saying  in  broken  English, 
"I  am  pleased  to  meet  you! "  —a  pleasant  trib- 
ute to  the  profession.  A  few  days  later,  on 
meeting  him,  he  asked  if  I  had  found  the  rattle- 
snake —  he  had  killed  it  under  the  sycamore  and 
hung  it  on  a  branch  for  me  to  see. 

As  the  memory  of  my  morning  rides  down  to 
the  sycamore  brings  to  mind  the  wonderful  fresh- 
ness of  California's  fog-cleared  skies,  so  my  sun- 
set rides  home  from  the  great  tree  recall  the 
peacefulness  of  the  quiet  valley  at  twilight.  One 
sunset  stands  out  with  peculiar  distinctness.  As 
Mountain  Billy  turned  from  the  sycamore  marsh 
its  leaning  blades  gleamed  in  the  evening  light, 
and  the  sun  warmed  the  sides  of  the  line  of  buff 


122  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

Guernseys  wading  in  procession  through  the  high 
swamp  grass  to  their  out-door  milking  stand. 
Beyond,  a  load  of  hay  was  crossing  the  meadows 
with  sun  on  the  reins  and  the  pitchforks  the  men 
carried  over  their  shoulders  ;  and  beyond,  at  the 
head  of  the  valley,  the  western  canyons  were 
filled  with  golden  haze,  while  the  last  shafts  of 
yellow  light  loitered  over  the  apricot  orchards 
below,  where  the  tranquil  birds  were  singing  their 
evening  songs.  Slowly  the  long  shadows  of  the 
mountain  crept  over  orchard  and  vineyard  until, 
finally,  the  sun  rounded  the  last  peak  and  left 
our  little  valley  in  darkness. 


X. 

AMONG   MY   TENANTS. 

THE  first  year  I  was  in  California  the  thought 
of  the  orchards  that  were  to  be  set  out  on  my 
ranch  appealed  to  me  much  less  than  what  the 
place  already  possessed.  As  an  inheritance  from 
the  stream  that  came  down  in  spring  through  the 
Ughland  canyon  —  past  the  homes  of  the  little 
lover,  the  gnatcatchers,  the  little  prisoners,  and 
the  lazulis  and  blue  jays  —  there  was  a  straggling 
line  of  old  sycamores,  full  of  birds'  nests  ;  and  a 
patch  of  weeds,  wild  mustard,  and  willows,  which 
was  a  capital  shelter  for  wandering  warblers;  and 
a  bright  sunny  spot  always  ringing  with  songs. 

So  many  houses  were  being  put  up  without  so 
much  as  a  by-your-leave  that  it  was  high  time  for 
an  ornithological  landlady  to  bestir  herself  and 
look  to  her  ornithological  squatters  ;  so,  day  after 
day  I  turned  my  horse  toward  the  ranch  and 
spent  the  morning  getting  acquainted  with  my 
tenants,  riding  along  the  shady  line  and  making 
friendly  calls  at  each  tree. 

Half  of  the  blackbirds  who  worked  in  the  vine- 
yard must  have  been  beholden  to  me  for  rent, 
I  should  judge  by  the  jolly  choruses  of  the  sable 


124  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

hordes  moving  about  my  treetops.  There  was  a 
bee's  nest  in  one  of  the  sycamores,  and  one  day 
the  buzzing  mob  '  took  after  me  '  so  madly  that 
I  had  to  whip  up  Canello  and  beat  about  with 
my  hat  to  get  clear  of  them. 

Another  day,  when  we  stopped  under  a  syca- 
more, such  a  loud  shrill  whistle  sounded  sucldenly 
overhead  that  the  horse  started.  A  big  bird  in 
black  sat  with  feathers  bristled  up  about  him  like 
a  threatening  raven,  croaking  away  sepulchrally 
directly  overhead,  bending  down  gazing  at  us  out 
of  his  yellow  eyes  as  if  to  see  how  we  took  it. 
It  was  a  laughable  sight.  Blackbirds  seem  such 
human,  humorous  birds  one  can  almost  fancy 
them  playing  such  pranks  just  for  the  fun  of  it. 

The  blackbird  colony  was  a  busy  one  nesting- 
time.  The  builders  would  fly  down  to  the  road  to 
get  material,  stepping  along  quickly,  looking  from 
side  to  side  with  an  alert,  business-like  air,  as  if 
they  knew  just  what  they  wanted.  Some  of  them 
used  the  button-balls  to  line  their  nests. 

A  pair  had  built  in  one  of  the  round  mats  of 
mistletoe  at  the  end  of  a  branch,  and  while  look- 
ing at  the  nest  one  day  I  was  amazed  to  see  a 
butcherbird  come  flying  in  a  straight  line  toward 
it.  He  did  not  reach  his  destination,  for  while 
still  in  air  both  blackbirds  darted  down  at  him 
and  drove  him  back  faster  than  he  had  come. 
The  guardian  of  the  nest  escorted  him  almost 
home,  and  when  the  victorious  pair  were  returning 


AMONG    MY    TENANTS.  125 

they  were  joined  by  a  noisy  band  of  indignant 
members  of  the  blackbird  clan. 

I  watched  this  attack  with  great  interest,  not 
knowing  that  shrikes  were  concerned  in  black- 
bird matters,  and  also  because  it  was  welcome 
news  that  one  of  these  strange  characters  had 
rented  a  lot  of  me.  I  made  a  note  of  the  direction 
my  outlaw  tenant  took  when  driven  ignominiously 
home,  and  at  my  earliest  convenience  called. 
Such  cruel  tales  are  told  of  his  cold-blooded  way 
of  impaling  birds  and  beasts  upon  thorns  and 
barbed  wires  that  one  naturally  looks  upon  him 
as  a  monster ;  but  I  found  that  he,  like  many 
another  villain,  turns  a  gentle  face  to  his  nest. 

He  had  pitched  his  tent  on  the  farthest  outpost 
of  my  ranch  in  a  little  bunch  of  willows,  weeds, 
and  mustard  —  long  since  converted  into  a  well- 
kept  prune  orchard.  The  nest,  which  was  a  big 
round  mass  of  sticks,  was  inside  the  willows  in 
a  clump  of  dry  stalks  about  six  feet  from  the 
ground.  I  had  hardly  found  it  before  one  of  the 
builders  swooped  down  to  it  right  before  my  eyes, 
with  the  hardihood  of  one  who  fears  no  man  ; 
though  it  must  be  acknowledged  that  the  shrikes, 
like  other  birds  on  the  ranch,  were  so  used  to 
grazing  horses  they  quite  naturally  took  me  for  a 
cattle  herder. 

In  this  case  Canello  did  not  act  as  my  ally.  He 
had  been  quiet  and  docile  most  of  the  morning, 
but  now  was  hungry  and  saw  some  grass  he  was 


126  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

bent  on  having,  so.  took  the  bit  in  his  teeth  and 
made  such  an  obstinate  fight  that,  before  I  had 
conquered  him,  the  shrikes  had  left  the  premises 
and  my  call  was  finished  without  my  hosts. 

On  my  next  visit  Canello  behaved  in  more 
seemly  manner,  and  permitted  me  to  see  some- 
thing of  the  ways  of  the  maligned  birds.  You 
would  not  have  known  them  from  any  one  else 
except  for  the  remarkable  stillness  of  their  neigh- 
borhood. Some  finches  flew  overhead  as  if  mean- 
ing to  stop,  but  saw  the  shrike  and  went  on.  I 
could  hear  the  merry  songs  of  the  assembly  down 
in  the  sycamores,  but  not  a  bird  lit  while  we 
were  there  —  the  shrikes  certainly  have  a  bad 
name  among  their  neighbors.  They  had  a  proud 
bearing  and  an  imperative  manner,  but  seemed  so 
gentle  and  human  in  their  domestic  life  that  my 
prejudices  were  softened,  as  one's  generally  are  by 
near  acquaintance,  and  I  became  really  very  fond 
of  my  handsome  tenants. 

It  looked  as  if  the  shrike  fed  his  mate.  At 
any  rate,  they  worked  together  and  rested  to- 
gether, perching  in  lordly  fashion  high  on  the 
willows  overlooking  their  home.  They  did  not 
object  to  observers  when  at  work.  One  day,  when 
Canello's  nose  appeared  by  the  nest,  the  builder 
looked  at  him  over  her  shoulder  and  then  quietly 
slid  off  the  nest,  flying  up  on  her  perch  to  wait 
till  he  should  leave.  It  was  a  temptation  to  keep 
her  waiting  some  time,  for  the  shrike's  corner  was 


AMONG    MY    TENANTS.  127 

a  pleasant  place  to  linger  in.  The  sea-breeze 
was  so  strong  it  turned  the  willow  leaves  white 
side  out,  and  the  beautiful  glistening  mustard 
grew  so  high  there  that  when  Canello  walked  into 
it,  the  golden  blossoms  waved  over  our  heads. 
We  haunted  the  premises  till  the  birds  had  fin- 
ished their  framework,  put  in  a  lining  of  snow- 
white  plant  cotton,  and  had  laid  four  eggs. 

But  when  getting  to  feel  like  an  old  friend  of 
the  family,  on  riding  down  one  day  I  found  the 
nest  lying  in  the  dust  of  the  road  broken  and 
despoiled.  It  made  me  as  unhappy  as  if  the 
outlaws  had  been  unimpeachable  bird  citizens  — 
which  comes  of  knowing  both  sides  of  a  person's 
character !  Do  birds  hand  down  traditions  of  ill 
luck?  However  it  may  be,  five  years  later  I 
found  the  nest  of  a  pair  in  a  dark  mat  of  mistle- 
toe at  the  end  of  a  high  oak  branch,  which  was  a 
much  safer  place  than  the  low  willow. 

While  I  was  watching  the  first  shrike  family, 
Canello  had  two  scares.  Once  when  we  were 
standing  still  by  the  willow  we  heard  what  sounded 
like  a  rattlesnake  springing  its  rattle.  The  ner- 
vous horse  pricked  up  his  ears,  raised  his  head, 
and  looked  in  the  grass  as  if  he  saw  snakes,  and 
though  I  succeeded  in  quieting  him,  when  we 
went  home  he  started  at  every  stick  and  was  ready 
to  shy  at  every  shadow.  Another  morning  he 
saw  a  Mexican  riding  along  by  the  vineyard, 
a  man  with  a  very  dark  face  and  a  red  shirt. 


128  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

Canello  acted  much  as  he  had  when  hearing  the 
rattlesnake,  and  did  not  quiet  down  till  horse  and 
rider  were  out  of  sight.  The  ranch-man  told  me 
he  had  been  cruelly  treated  by  the  Mexican  who 
broke  him,  so  perhaps  it  was  another  case  of  asso- 
ciation of  ideas. 

East  of  the  willows,  and  separated  from  them 
by  the  dark  green  mallows  and  bright  yellow 
California  forget-me-nots,  was  the  sycamore  where 
the  shrike  was  driven  off  by  the  blackbirds. 
Here  a  little  brown  wren  had  taken  up  her  abode. 
The  nest  was  in  a  dead  limb  with  a  lengthwise 
slit,  and  a  scoop  at  the  end  like  an  apple-corer, 
so  when  one  of  the  wrens  flew  down  its  hole  with 
a  stick,  the  twig  stuck  out  of  the  crack  as  she 
ran  along  with  it.  She  quite  won  my  heart  by 
her  frank  way  of  meeting  her  landlady.  Instead 
of  flying  off,  she  looked  me  over  and  then  quietly 
sat  down  in  her  doorway  to  wait  for  her  mate. 

On  the  road  to  my  sycamores  was  a  deserted 
whitewashed  adobe.  The  place  had  become  over- 
grown with  weeds,  vines,  and  bushes,  and  was 
taken  possession  of  by  squirrels  and  birds. 
Nature  had  reclaimed  it,  covering  its  ugly  scars 
with  garlands,  and  making  it  bloom  under  her 
tender  touch.  One  morning,  as  I  rode  by,  a 
black  phcebe  was  perched  on  the  old  adobe  chim- 
ney of  the  little  house,  while  his  mate  sat  on  the 
board  that  covered  the  well,  in  a  way  that  made  it 
easy  to  jump  to  a  conclusion.  When  she  flew 


AMONG    MY    TENANTS. 


129 


Black  Phoebe. 

(One  half  natural  size.) 


up  to  the  acacia  beside  the  well  and  looked  down 

anxiously,  I  put  the  pair  on  my  calling  list.     It 

did    not    take    many    visits    to 

prove     my    conclusion  —  there 

was   a   nest    down    in   the  well 

with    white    eggs    in    it.      The 

phosbes      were     most     trustful 

birds,    and    not    only    let    Ca- 

nello  tramp  around  their  yard, 

but  when  a  pump  was  put  down 

the  well,  and  water  pumped  up 

day  by  day,  the  brave  parents, 

instead  of  deserting  their  eggs,  went  on  brooding 

as  if  nothing  had  happened. 

Five  years  later,  on  going  back  to  the  ranch,  I 

found   the    phcebes    around   the    old    place,    but 

hunted  in  vain  for  the  nest.     A  schoolhouse  had 

been  built  in  the  interval,  near  the  old  adobe, 
and  the  birds  perched  on 
its  gables,  on  the  hitching 
posts  in  front  of  it,  and  on 
my  prune-trees,  that  had 
taken  the  place  of  the  wil- 
lows, across  the  road.  They 
even  came  up  to  my  small 
ranch-house  and  filled  me 
with  delightful  anticipa- 
tions by  inspecting  the 

beams    of   the   piazza;    but  they  could  not  find 

what  they  wanted  and  flew  off  to  build  elsewhere. 


Eastern  Phoebe. 
(One  half  natural  size.) 


130  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

Later  in  the  season,  a  neighbor  whose  ranch  was 
opposite  mine  showed  me  a  phoabe's  nest  inside 
his  whitewashed  chicken  house.  It  was  a  mud 
pocket  like  a  swhllow's,  made  of  large  pellets  of 
mud  plastered  against  a  board  in  the  peak  of 
the  house.  Of  course  I  could  never  prove  that 
these  birds  were  my  old  friends,  but  it  seemed 
very  probable. 

The  smallest  of  my  tenants  was  a  humming- 
bird. I  saw  it  fly  into  a  low  spray,  and  it  stayed 
there  so  long  that  when  it  left  I  rode  up  to  look, 
and  found  that  it  was  building  on  the  tip  of  a 
twig  under  a  sycamore  leaf  umbrella,  one  whose 
veining  showed  against  the  light.  By  rising  in 
the  saddle  I  could  just  reach  the  twig  and  pull 
it  down  to  look  inside  the  nest;  but  afterwards 
I  found  so  many  other  hummers  who  could  be 
watched  with  fewer  gymnastics,  I  rested  content 
with  knowing  that  this  little  friend  was  there. 

One  morning,  when  on  the  way  to  the  syca- 
mores, I  found  an  oriole's  nest  high  in  a  tree. 
Canello  was  hungry,  but  when  permitted  to  eat 
barley  under  the  branches  kept  reasonably  quiet. 
There  were  two  species  of  orioles  in  the  valley ; 
and  not  knowing  to  which  the  nest  belonged, 
I  prepared  to  wait  for  the  return  of  the  owner. 
The  heat  was  so  oppressive  that  I  took  off  my 
hat,  and  a  bird  flew  into  the  tree  with  bill  open, 
gasping.  After  my  hot  ride  down  the  valley  the 
shade  of  the  big  tree  was  very  grateful ;  and 


AMONG    MY    TENANTS.  131 

the  cool  trade  wind  coming  through  a  gap  in  the 
hills  most  refreshing. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  flash  —  we  all  waked  up 
—  was  that  the  house  owner  ?  What  a  remark- 
able bird  !  and  what  a  display  of  color  !  —  it  had 
a  red  head,  fiery  in  the  sun ;  a  black  back,  and  a 
vivid  yellow  breast.  On  looking  it  up  in  Bidg- 
way  the  stranger  proved  to  be  the  Louisiana 
tanager,  a  high  mountain  bird.  That  was  a  red 
letter  day  for  me.  No  one  can  know,  without 
experiencing  it,  the  delight  of  such  discoveries. 
The  pleasure  is  as  genuine  as  if  the  world  were 
made  anew  for  you.  In  the  excitement  the  ori- 
ole's nest  was  neglected ;  but  ordinarily  the  rare 
unknown  birds  did  not  detract  from  the  enjoy- 
ment of  the  old,  more  familiar  ones. 

So  when  the  brilliant  stranger  flew  away  and 
was  seen  no  more  I  turned  with  pleasure  to  the 
pair  of  sparrow  hawks  who  had  come  to  live  on 
the  ranch.  A  branch  had  fallen  from  one  of 
the  trees,  and  the  hawks  found  its  hollow  just 
suited  to  their  needs.  It  was  a  good,  spacious 
house,  but  a  pair  of  their  cousins  who  had  built 
in  a  tree  over  the  whitewashed  hovel  had  made 
a  sad  mistake  in  choosing  their  dwelling  —  for 
the  front  door  was  so  small  they  could  hardly 
enter !  I  used  to  stop  to  watch  them,  and  was 
very  much  amused  at  their  efforts  to  make  the 
best  of  it. 

Canello  could  stand  up  to  his  knees  in  alfilaree 


132  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

clover  under  their  tree,  so  he  allowed  me  to  watch 
the  birds  in  peace.  The  first  day  the  male  spar- 
row hawk  flew  to  the  tree  with  what  looked  like  a 
snake  dangling  from  his  bill,  and  as  he  alighted 
screamed  kit-ldtfar*  rf  r'  r1,  spreading  his  wings 
and  shaking  them  with  emphasis.  When  this 
brought  no  response,  he  flew  from  branch  to 
branch,  crying  out  lustily.  He  revolved  around 
the  end  of  a  broken  limb  in  whose  small  hollow 
was  framed  the  head  of  Madame  Falco.  From 
her  height  she  looked  like  a  rag  doll  at  her  win- 
dow. Her  funny  round  face,  which  filled  the 
doorway,  had  black  spots  for  bill  and  eyes,  and 
dark  lines  down  the  cheeks  that  might  have 
simulated  rag  doll  tattooing. 

Evidently  there  was  some  reason  why  she  did 
not  want  to  come  to  breakfast.  Once  she 
started  to  turn  back  into  the  nest,  but  at  last 
laboriously  wedged  her  way  out  of  the  hole  and 
flew  to  a  branch.  Her  mate  was  at  her  side  in 
an  instant,  and  handed  her  the  snake.  She  took 
it  greedily  and  flew  off  with  it,  let  us  hope 
because  she  was  afraid  of  me,  not  because  she 
did  not  want  to  divide  with  him,  or  thought  he 
would  ask  her  to,  after  all  his  devotion  and 
patience ! 

When  the  bird  went  back  to  her  nest,  her 
hesitation  about  leaving  it  was  explained.  For 
a  long  time  she  sat  on  a  limb  near  by  with  tail 
bobbing,  apparently  trying  to  make  up  her  mind 


AMONG    MY    TENANTS.  133 

to  go  in.  When  she  did  fly  up  at  the  hole  she 
could  not  get  in,  and  half  fell  down.  After  this 
failure  she  sat  down  on  a  branch,  her  tail  tilting 
as  violently  as  a  pipit's,  and  when  Canello  moved 
around  too  much,  took  the  excuse  and  flew  off. 
Her  mate  came  back  with  her,  but  when  he  saw 
us,  he  screamed  and  flew  away,  leaving  her  to 
her  fate. 

She  sat  looking  at  her  hole  a  long  time  before 
she  tried  it  again,  and  when  she  did  try,  failed. 
It  was  not  till  her  fourth  attempt  that  she  suc- 
ceeded. The  hole  was  very  much  too  small  for 
her,  and  the  surface  of  the  branch  below  it  was 
so  smooth  and  slippery  that  it  gave  her  nothing 
to  hold  to  in  trying  to  wedge  herself  in.  She 
would  fly  against  the  hole  and  attempt  to  hook 
her  bill  over  the  edge,  and  so  draw  herself  up, 
but  her  shoulders  were  too  big  for  the  space. 
She  tried  to  make  them  smaller  by  drawing  down 
her  wings  lengthwise.  Once,  in  her  efforts,  she 
spread  her  tail  like  a  fan.  After  her  third 
struggle,  she  sat  for  a  long  time  smoothing  her 
ruffled  feathers,  shaking  herself,  scratching  her 
face  with  her  foot  and  trying  to  get  her  plumes 
in  order. 

While  making  her  toilet  she  apparently 
thought  of  a  new  plan.  She  went  back  to  the 
hole  and,  raising  her  claw,  fastened  it  inside  the 
hole  and  with  a  spasmodic  effort  wedged  in  her 
body  and  disappeared  down  the  black  hollow. 


134  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

Her  mate  came  a  moment  after,  but  she  did  not 
even  appear  in  the  doorway  when  he  called. 
Again  he  came,  crying  keek'  keek'  kick'-er'  rf  rr, 
in  tender  falsetto ;  but  it  was  no  use.  Madame 
Falco  had  had  altogether  too  hard  a  time  getting 
in,  to  go  out  again  in  a  hurry.  He  held  a  worm 
in  his  bill  till  he  was  tired,  changed  it  to  his 
claw,  letting  it  dangle  from  that  for  a  while ; 
and  then,  as  she  would  make  no  sign,  finally 
flew  off. 

The  next  day  we  had  another  session  with  the 
sparrow  hawk.  She  had  evidently  profited  by 
experience.  She  did  not  fly  at  the  hole  in  the 
violent  way  she  had  done  the  day  before,  but 
ambled  along  a  limb  to  get  as  close  to  it  as  pos- 
sible, and  then  quietly  flew  up.  She  made  two 
or  three  unsuccessful  attempts  to  enter,  but  kept 
at  the  branch,  —  falling  back  but  once.  She  got 
half  way  in  once  or  twice,  but  could  not  force  her 
wings  through.  She  acted  as  if  determined  not 
to  give  up,  and  at  last,  when  she  found  herself 
falling  backwards,  with  a  desperate  effort  drew 
herself  in. 

There  was  another  sparrow  hawk  family  across 
the  road  from  my  ranch.  In  riding  by  one  day, 
I  saw  a  youngster  looking  out  from  the  nest  hole 
with  big  frightened  eyes.  Was  it  the  only  child, 
or  was  it  monopolizing  the  fresh  air  while  its 
brothers  were  smothering  below?  Another  day 
there  were  two  heads  in  the  window;  one  was 


AMONG    MY    TENANTS.  135 

the  round  domed  top  of  a  fluffy  nestling  whose 
eyes  expressed  only  vague  fear;  but  the  other 
was  the  strongly  marked  head  of  an  old  sparrow 
hawk,  who  eyed  us  with  keen  intelligence.  As  I 
stared  up,  the  young  one  drew  back  into  the  hole 
behind  its  parent,  probably  in  obedience  to  her 
command ;  and  the  old  bird  bent  such  an  anxious 
inquiring  gaze  upon  me  that  I  took  the  hint  and 
rode  away  to  save  the  poor  mother  worry. 

These  were  not  the  only  hawks  of  the  valley. 
Once,  seeing  one  of  the  large  Buteos  winging  its 
way  with  nesting  sticks  hanging  from  its  claws, 
I  turned  Canello  into  the  field  after  it,  follow- 
ing till  it  lit  in  the  top  of  a  high  sycamore. 
The  pair  were  both  gathering  material.  Some- 
times they  flew  with  the  twigs  in  their  claws  ; 
sometimes  in  their  bills ;  now  they  would  fly 
directly  to  the  nest,  again  circle  around  the  tree 
before  alighting.  When  one  was  at  work,  the 
other  sometimes  flew  up  and  soared  so  high  in 
the  sky  he  looked  no  larger  than  a  sparrow 
hawk.  In  swooping  to  the  ground  suddenly, 
the  hawks  would  hollow  in  their  backs,  stick  up 
'  their  tails,  drop  their  legs  for  ballast,  and  so  let 
themselves  come  to  earth.  While  one  of  the  birds 
was  peacefully  gathering  sticks,  two  blackbirds 
attacked  it,  apparently  on  general  grounds,  be- 
cause it  belonged  to  a  family  that  had  been 
traduced  since  history  began.  To  tell  the  honest 
truth,  I  trembled  a  little  myself  at  thought  of 


136  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

what  might  happen  to  some  of  my  small  tenants, 
though  I  reassured  myself  by  remembering  that 
the  facts  prove  the  maligned  hawks  much  more 
likely  to  eat  gophers  than  birds. 

In  the  back  of  the  stub  occupied  by  one  of 
the  sparrow  hawks  it  was  a  pleasure  to  find  a 
flicker  excavating  its  nest.  Planting  its  claws 
firmly  in  the  hole  with  tail  braced  against  the 
bark,  the  bird  leaned  forward,  thrusting  its  head 
in,  over  and  again,  as  if  feeding  young.  It  used 
its  feet  as  a  pivot,  and  swung;  itself  in,  farther 
and  farther,  as  it  worked.  Si5ch  gymnastics 
took  strong  feet,  for  the  bird  raised  itself  by 
them  each  time.  It  worked  like  an  automatic 
toy  wound  up  for  the  performance.  When  tired, 
the  flicker  hopped  up  on  a  branch  and  vented 
its  feelings  by  shouting  tf-if-if-if-if-if-if,  after 
which  it  quietly  returned  to  work.  The  wood 
was  so  soft  that  the  excavating  made  almost  no 
noise,  but  it  was  easy  to  see  what  was  going  on, 
for  the  carpenter  simply  drew  back  its  head  and 
tossed  out  the  glistening  chips  for  all  the  world 
to  see.  At  the  end  of  a  week  the  flicker  was 
working  so  far  down  in  its  excavation  that  only 
the  tip  of  its  tail  stuck  out  of  the  door. 

The  nest  of  another  Colaptes,  I  found  by 
accident  —  a  fresh  chip  dropped  from  mid-air 
upon  my  riding  skirt.  Just  then  Canello  gave 
a  stentorian  sneeze  and  the  bird  came  to  her 
window  to  look  down.  She  did  not  object  to  us, 


AMONG    MY    TENANTS.  137 

and  was  loath  to  turn  back  inside  the  dark  hole 
—  such  a*  close  stuffy  place  —  when  outside  there 
were  the  rich  green  leaves  of  the  tree,  the  sweet 
breath  of  the  hayfield  and  the  gentle  breeze  just 
springing  up  ;  all  the  warmth  and  sunshine  and 
fragrance  of  the  fields.  How  could  she  ever 
leave  to  go  below  ?  Perhaps  she  bethought  her 
that  soon  the  dark  hole  would  be  a  home  ring- 
ing with  the  voices  of  her  little  ones;  at  all 
events,  she  quickly  turned  and  disappeared  in  her 
-nest. 

At  the  foot  of  the  ranch  I  discovered  a  comi- 
cal, sleepy  little  brown  owl,  dozing  in  a  sycamore 
window.  When  we  waked  it  up,  it  went  back- 
ing down  the  hole.  I  wondered  if  it  kept  awake 
all  day  without  food,  for  surely  owl  children  do 
not  get  many  meals  by  daylight.  I  spoke  to  the 
ranchman's  son  about  it,  and  he  said  he  thought 
the  old  birds  fed  the  young  too  much,  that  he 
had  found  about  a  dozen  small  kangaroo  rats 
and  mice  in  their  holes!  He  told  me  that  he 
had  known  old  owls  to  change  places  in  the  day- 
time, and  both  birds  to  stay  in  the  hole  during 
the  day.  Down  the  valley,  where  an  old  well 
was  only  partly  covered  over,  at  different  times 
he  had  found  a  number  of  drowned  owls.  They 
seemed  to  fly  into  any  dark  hole  that  offered. 
Three  barn  owls  had  been  taken  from  a  wind- 
mill tank  in  the  neighborhood  in  about  a  month. 
In  a  mine  at  Escondido  the  man  had  found  a 


138  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

number  of  owls  sitting  in  a  crevice  where  the 
earth  had  caved ;  and  he  had  seen  about  a  dozen 
of  them  fifty  to  a  hundred  feet  underground,  at 
the  bottom  of  the  mine  shaft. 

I  did  not  wonder  the  birds  wanted  to  keep  out 
of  sight  in  the  daytime,  knowing  what  happened 
to  those  that  stayed  out.  A  pair  nested  in  the  top 
of  a  high  sycamore  on  my  neighbors'  premises,  and 
when  one  stirred  away  from  home,  it  did  so  to 
its  sorrow.  One  morning  there  was  such  a  com- 
motion I  rode  down  to  see  what  was  the  matter. 
A  big  dark  brown  form  flew  down  the  avenue  of 
sycamores  ahead  of  us,  followed  by  a  mob  of  all 
the  feathered  house  owners  in  the  neighborhood. 
They  escorted  it  home  to  the  top  of  its  own  tree, 
where  it  seated  itself  on  a  limb,  its  big  yellow  eyes 
staring  and  its  long  ears  dropped  down,  as  if  home 
were  not  home  with  a  rout  of  angry  bee-birds  and 
blackbirds  screeching  and  diving  at  you  over  your 
own  door  sill.  Two  orioles  started  to  fly  over  from 
the  next  tree,  but  went  back,  perhaps  thinking  it 
wiser  not  to  make  open  war  upon  such  near  neigh- 
bors ;  while  a  sparrow  hawk  who  came  to  help 
in  the  attack  was  judged  too  dangerous  an  ally 
and  escorted  home  by  a  squad  of  blackbirds 
dispatched  for  the  purpose.  The  poor  persecuted 
owl  screwed  its  head  around  to  its  back  as  if 
hoping  to  see  pleasanter  sights  on  that  side ;  but 
the  uncanny  performance  did  not  seem  to  please 
its  enemies,  and  a  blackbird  flew  rudely  past,  close 


AMONG    MY    TENANTS.  139 

under  its  bill,  as  if  to  warn  it  of  what   might 
happen. 

The  queerest  of  all  my  tenants  was  an  old 
mother  barn  owl  who  lived  in  the  black  charred 
chimney  of  one  of  the  sycamores.  I  found  a 
white  feather  on  the  black  wood  one  day  in  riding 
by,  and  pulling  Canello  up  by  the  tree,  broke  off 
a  twig  and  rapped  on  the  door.  She  came  blun- 
dering out  and  flew  to  a  limb  over  our  heads  — 
such  a  queer  old  crone,  with  her  hooked  nose 
and  her  weazened  face  surrounded  by  a  circlet  of 
dark  feathers.  The  light  blinded  her,  and  with 
her  big  round  eyes  wide  open  she  leaned  down 
staring  to  make  out  who  we  were.  Then  shaking 
her  head  reproachfully,  she  swayed  solemnly 
from  side  to  side.  As  the  wind  blew  against  her 
ragged  feathers  she  drew  her  wings  over  her 
breast  like  a  cloak,  making  herself  look  like  a 
poverty-stricken  wiseacre.  Finding  that  we  did 
not  offer  to  go,  the  poor  old  crone  took  to  her 
wings ;  but  as  she  passed  down  the  line  of  syca- 
mores she  roused  the  blackbird  clan,  and  a  pair 
of  angry  orioles  flew  out  and  attacked  her.  My 
conscience  smote  me  for  driving  her  out  among 
her  enemies,  but  on  our  return  to  the  sycamores 
all  was  quiet  again,  and  a  lizard  was  sunning 
himself  on  the  edge  of  the  old  owl's  chimney. 


XI. 

AN    UNNAMED    BIRD. 

Six  years  ago,  on  my  first  visit  to  California, 
I  found  a  dainty  cup  of  a  nest  out  in  the  oaks, 
but  the  name  of  its  owner  was  a  puzzle.  On 
returning  East  I  consulted  those  who  are  wisest 
in  matters  of  such  fine  china,  but  they  were 
unable  to  clear  up  the  matter.  For  five  years 
that  mystery  haunted  me.  At  the  end  of  that 
time,  when  back  in  California,  up  in  those  same 
oaks,  I  found  another  cup  of  the  same  pattern  ; 
but  the  cup  got  broken  and  that  was  the  end  of  it. 

The  fact  of  the  matter  is,  you  can  identify  per- 
haps ninety  per  cent,  of  the  birds  you  see,  with 
an  opera-glass  and  —  patience  ;  but  when  it  comes 
to  the  other  ten  per  cent.,  including  small  vireos 
and  flycatchers,  and  some  others  that  might  be 
mentioned,  you  are  involved  in  perplexities  that 
torment  your  mind  and  make  you  meditate  mur- 
der ;  for  it  is  impossible  to 

Name  all  the  birds  without  a  gun. 

On  bringing  my  riddle  to  the  wise  men,  they 
shook  their  heads  and  asked  why  I  did  not  shoot 
my  bird  and  find  out  who  he  was.  On  saying 


AN    UNNAMED    BIRD.  141 

the  word  his  skin  would  be  sent  to  me  ;  but  after 
knowing  the  little  family  in  their  home  it  would 
have  been  like  raising  my  hand  against  familiar 
friends.  Could  I  take  their  lives  to  gratify  my 
curiosity  about  a  name?  I  pondered  long  and 
weighed  the  matter  well,  trying  to  harden  my 
heart ;  but  the  image  of  the  winning  trustful 
birds  always  rose  before  me  and  made  it  impos- 
sible. I  will  put  the  case  before  you,  and  you 
can  judge  if  you  would  not  have  withheld  your 
hand. 

One  day,  hearing  the  sound  of  battle  up  in  the 
treetops,  I  hurried  over  to  the  scene  of  action, 
when  out  dashed  a  pair  of  courageous  little  dull- 
colored  birds  in  hot  pursuit  of  a  blue  jay,  whom 
they  dove  at  till  they  drove  him  from  the  field. 
My  sympathies  were  enlisted  at  once.  Fearless 
little  tots  to  brave  a  bird  four  times  as  big  as 
themselves  in  defense  of  their  home !  How  hard 
to  have  to  build  and  rear  a  brood  in  the  face  of 
such  a  powerful  foe !  I  wanted  to  take  up  the 
cudgels  for  them  and  stand  guard  to  see  that  no 
harm  came. 

Planting  my  camp-stool  under  their  oak,  I 
watched  eagerly  to  have  my  new  friends  show  me 
their  home.  As  I  waited,  a  pair  of  turtle  doves 
walked  about  on  the  sand  under  the  farther 
branches  of  the  tree ;  a  pair  of  woodpeckers  sat 
on  a  dead  limb  lying  in  wait  for  their  prey;  and 
a  couple  of  titmice  came  hunting  through  the  oak 


142  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

—  all  the  world  seemed  full  of  happy  home- 
makers. 

But  soon  I  saw  a  sight  that  made  me  forget 
everything  else.  There  were  my  brave  little  birds 
up  in  the  oak  working  upon  a  beautiful  moss  cup 
that  hung  from  a  forked  twig.  They  were  build- 
ing together,  flying  rapidly  back  and  forth  bring- 
ing bits  of  moss  from  the  brush  to  put  in  their 
nest. 

They  worked  independently,  each  hunting  moss 
and  placing  it  to  its  own  satisfaction.  What  one 
did  the  other  would  be  well  pleased  with,  I  felt 
sure.  But  while  each  worked  according  to  its 
own  ideas,  they  always  appeared  to  be  working 
together ;  they  could  not  bear  to  be  out  of  sight 
of  each  other  long  at  a  time.  When  the  small 
father  bird  found  himself  at  the  nest  alone,  after 
placing  his  material  he  would  stand  and  call  to 
let  his  pretty  mate  know  that  he  was  waiting  for 
her ;  or  else  sit  down  by  the  nest  and  warble  over 
such  a  contented,  happy  little  lay  it  warmed  my 
heart  just  to  listen  to  him. 

When  his  mate  appeared  the  merry  birds  would 
chase  off  for  a  race  through  the  treetops.  Song 
and  play  were  mingled  with  their  work,  but,  for 
all  that,  the  happy  builders'  house  grew  under 
their  hands,  and  they  kept  faithfully  at  their  task 
of  preparing  the  home  for  their  little  brood.  Once 
the  small,  dainty  mother  bird,  —  surely  it  must 
have  been  she,  —  after  putting  in  her  bit  of  moss, 


AN    UNNAMED    BIRD.  143 

settled  down  in  the  nest  and  sat  there  the  picture 
of  quiet  happiness. 

This  was  all  I  saw  of  the  nest  builders  that 
year.  A  great  storm  swept  through  .the  valley, 
and  it  must  have  washed  away  the  frail  mossy 
cup,  for  it  .was  gone  and  the  tree  was  deserted. 
Nevertheless,  the  birds  had  been  so  attractive, 
and  their  nest  so  interesting,  that  through  the  five 
years  that  passed  before  my  return  to  California 
I  kept  their  memory  green,  and  could  never  think 
of  them  without  tenderness  —  though  I  could  call 
them  by  no  name.  If  they  had  only  worn  red 
feathers  in  their  caps,  it  would  have  been  some  clue 
to  their  coats-of-arms ;  but,  out  of  hand,  there 
seemed  to  be  nothing  to  mark  the  plain,  little, 
greenish  gray  birds  from  half  a  dozen  of  their 
cousins. 

When  I  finally  returned  to  the  California  ranch, 
one  of  my  first  thoughts  was  for  the  moss  nest 
makers  up  in  the  oaks.  Now  I  had  a  chance  to 
solve  the  mystery  without  harming  one  of  their 
pretty  feathers,  for  by  long  and  patient  watching  I 
might  get  near  enough  to.  puzzle  out  the  '  spurious 
primary '  and  the  subtle  distinctions  of  tint  that 
make  such  a  difference  in  calling  birds  by  their 
right  names. 

For  six  weeks  I  watched  and  listened  in  vain, 
but  one  day  when  riding  up  the  canyon  rejoicing 
at  the  new  life  that  filled  the  trees,  I  stopped 
under  an  oak  only  a  few  rods  from  the  one  where 


144  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

the  nest  had  been  five  years  before,  and  looking 
up  saw  a  small  dull-colored  bird  with  a  bit  of 
moss  in  its  bill  walking  down  into  a  mossy  cup 
right  before  my  eyes  !  For  a  few  moments  I  was 
the  happiest  observer  in  the  land.  I  had  found 
my  little  friend  again,  after  all  these  years !  It 
looked  over  the  edge  of  the  twig  at  me  several 
times,  but  went  on  gathering  material  as  uncon- 
cernedly as  if  it,  too,  remembered  me.  The  mossy 
cup  seemed  prettier  than  any  rare  bit  of  Sevres 
china,  for  I  looked  upon  it  with  eyes  that  had 
been  waiting  for  the  sight  for  five  years. 

As  the  bird  worked,  a  cottontail  rabbit  rustled 
the  leaves,  and  Billy  started  forward,  frightening 
the  timid  animal  so  that  it  scampered  off  over 
the  ground,  showing  the  white  underside  of  its 
tail.  But  though  Billy  and  the  rabbit  were  both 
terrified,  the  brave  worker  only  flew  down  to  a 
twig  to  look  at  them,  and  turned  back  calmly  to 
its  task. 

The  nest  was  so  protectively  colored  that  I 
could  not  see  it  readily,  and  sometimes  started  to 
find  that  I  had  been  looking  right  at  it  without 
knowing  it.  The  prospect  of  identifying  my  birds 
was  not  encouraging.  You  might  as  well  expect 
to  see  from  the  first  floor  what  was  going  on  up 
in  a  cupola  as  to  expect  to  see  from  the  ground 
what  birds  are  doing  up  in  the  thick  oak  tops. 
You  have  reason  to  be  thankful  for  even  a  glimpse 
of  a  bird  in  the  heavy  foliage,  and  as  for  '  spuri- 
ous primaries,'  —  "  Woe  worth  the  chase  !  " 


AN    UNNAMED    BIRD.  145 

Now  and  then  I  got  a  hint  of  family  matters. 
My  two  little  friends  were  working  together,  and 
occasionally  I  saw  a  bit  of  moss  put  in ;  but  it 
was  evident  that  the  main  part  of  the  work  was 
over.  One  day  I  waited  half  an  hour,  and  when 
the  bird  came  it  acted  as  if  it  had  really  done  all 
that  was  necessary,  and  only  returned  for  the  sake 
of  being  about  its  pretty  home. 

The  birds  said  a  good  deal  up  in  the  oak,  some- 
times in  sweet  lisping  tones,  as  though  talking  to 
themselves  about  the  nest.  They  often  flew  away 
from  it  not  far  over  my  head.  The  call  note  was 
a  loud  whistle  —  whee-itf  —  and  the  bird  gave  it 
so  rapidly  that  I  once  took  out  my  watch  to  time 
him,  after  which  he  called  seventy  times  in  sixty 
seconds.  Often  after  whistling  loudly  he  would 
give  a  soft  low  call.  His  clear  ringing  voice  was 
one  of  the  most  cheering  in  the  valley. 

When  the  building  seemed  done  and  I  was  look- 
ing forward  to  the  brooding,  as  the  birds  would 
then,  perforce,  be  more  about  the  nest,  one  sad 
morning  I  rode  up  through  the  oaks  and  found 
the  beautiful  moss  cup  torn  and  dangling  from 
its  branch.  It  was  the  keenest  disappointment 
of  the  nesting  season,  and  there  had  been  many. 
The  pretty  acquaintance  to  whose  renewal  I  had 
looked  forward  so  many  years  was  now  ended. 

Again  I  had  to  leave  California  without  being 
able  to  name  my  winning  little  friends.  If  I 
had  been  too  much  interested  in  them  before  to 


146  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

set  a  price  on  their  heads;  now,  rather  than 
raise  my  voice  against  them,  they  should  remain 
forever  unnamed.1 

1  Since  this  paper  was  written,  I  have  consulted  an  authority 
on  nests,  who  thinks  that  this  nameless  bird  was  probably  Hut- 
ton's  -vireo. 


XII. 

HUMMERS. 

CALIFORNIA  is  the  land  of  flowers  and  hum- 
mingbirds. Hummingbirds  are  there  the  winged 
companions  of  the  flowers.  In  the  valleys  the 
airy  birds  hover  about  the  filmy  golden  mustard 
and  the  sweet-scented  primroses  ;  on  the  blooming 
hillsides  in  spring  the  air  is  filled  with  whirring 
wings  and  piping  voices,  as  the  fairy  troops  pass 
and  repass  at  their  mad  gambols.  At  one  mo- 
ment the  birds  are  circling  methodically  around 
the  whorls  of  the  blue  sage ;  at  the  next,  hurtling 
through  the  air  after  a  distant  companion.  The 
great  wild  gooseberry  bushes  with  red  fuchsia- 
like  flowers  are  like  bee-hives,  swarming  with 
noisy  hummers.  The  whizzing  and  whirring 
lead  one  to  the  bushes  from  a  distance,  and  on 
approaching  one  is  met  by  the  brown  spindle- 
like  birds,  darting  out  from  the  blooming  shrubs, 
gleams  of  green,  gold,  and  scarlet  glancing  from 
their  gorgets. 

The  large  brown  hummers  probably  stop  in  the 
valley  only  on  their  way  north,  but  the  little 
black-chinned  ones  make  their  home  there,  and 
the  big  spreading  sycamores  and  the  great  live- 


148 


A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 


oaks  are  their  nesting  grounds.  In  the  big  oak 
beside  the  ranch-house  I  have  seen  two  or  three 
nests  at  once ;  and  a  ring  of  live-oaks  in  front 


The  Little  Hummer  on  her  Bow-Knot  Nest. 
(From  a  photograph.) 


of  the  house  held  a  complement  of  nests.  From 
the  hammock  under  the  oak  beside  the  house  one 
could  watch  the  birds  at  their  work.  If  the  front 
door  was  left  open,  the  hummers  would  some- 


HUMMERS.  149 

times  fly  inside ;  and  as  we  stepped  out  they  often 
darted  away  from  the  flowers  growing  under  the 
windows. 

California  is  the  place  of  all  places  to  study 
hummingbirds.  The  only  drawback  is  that  there 
are  always  too  many  other  birds  to  watch  at  the 
same  time ;  but  one  sees  enough  to  want  to  see 
more.  I  never  saw  a  hummingbird  courtship 
unless  —  perhaps  one  performance  I  saw  was  part 
of  the  wooing.  I  was  sitting  on  Mountain  Billy 
under  the  little  lover's  sycamore  when  a  buzzing 
and  a  whirring  sounded  overhead.  On  a  twig  sat 
a  wee  green  lady  and  before  her  was  her  lover  (?), 
who,  with  the  sound  and  regularity  of  a  spindle 
in  a  machine,  swung  shuttling  from  side  to  side 
in  an  arc  less  than  a  yard  long.  He  never  turned 
around,  or  took  his  eyes  off  his  lady's,  but  threw 
himself  back  at  the  end  of  his  line  by  a  quick 
spread  of  his  tail.  She  sat  with  her  eyes  fixed 
upon  him,  and  as  he  moved  from  side  to  side  her 
long  bill  followed  him  in  a  very  droll  way.  When 
through  with  his  dance  he  looked  at  her  intently, 
as  if  to  see  what  effect  his  performance  had  had 
upon  her.  She  made  some  remark,  apparently 
not  to  his  liking,  for  when  he  had  answered  he 
flew  away.  She  called  after  him,  but  as  he  did 
not  return  she  stretched  herself  and  flew  up  on 
a  twig  above  with  an  amusing  air  of  relief. 

This  is  all  I  have  ever  seen  of  the  court- 
ship ;  but  when  it  comes  to  nest-building,  I  have 


150  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

often  been  an  eye-witness  to  that.  One  little 
acquaintance  made  a  nest  of  yellow  down  and 
put  it  among  the  green  oak  leaves,  making  me 
think  that  the  laws  of  protective  coloration  had 
no  weight  with  her,  but  before  the  eggs  were 
laid  she  had  neatly  covered  the  yellow  with 
flakes  of  green  lichen.  I  found  her  one  day 
sitting  in  the  sun  with  the  top  of  her  head  as 
white  as  though  she  had  been  diving  into  the 
flour  barrel.  Here  was  one  of  the  wonderful 
cases  of  '  mutual  help  '  in  nature.  The  flowers 
supply  insects  and  honey  to  the  hummingbirds, 
and  they,  in  turn,  as  they  fly  from  blossom  to 
blossom  probing  the  tubes  with  the  long  slender 
bills  that  have  gradually  come  to  fit  the  shape 
of  the  tubes,  brush  off  the  pollen  of  one  blossom 
to  carry  it  on  to  the  next,  so  enabling  the  plants 
to  perfect  their  flowers  as  they  could  not  without 
help.  It  is  said  that,  in  proportion  to  their 
numbers,  hummingbirds  assist  as  much  as  insects 
in  the  work  of  cross-fertilization. 

Though  this  little  hummer  that  I  was  watch- 
ing let  me  come  within  a  few  feet  of  her,  when 
a  lizard  ran  under  her  bush  she  craned  her  neck 
and  looked  over  her  shoulder  at  him  with  surpris- 
ing interest.  She  doubtless  recognized  him  as 
one  of  her  egg-eating  enemies,  on  whose  account 
she  put  her  nest  at  the  tip  of  a  twig  too  slender 
to  serve  as  a  ladder. 

Another  hummingbird   who   built   across   the 


.    HUMMERS.  151 

way  was  still  more  trustful  —  with  people.  I 
used  to  sit  leaning  against  the  trunk  of  her  oak 
and  watch  the  nest,  which  was  near  the  tip  of 
one  of  the  long  swinging  branches  that  drooped 
over  the  trail.  When  the  tiny  worker  was  at 
home,  a  yard-stick  would  almost  measure  the 
distance  between  us.  As  she  sat  on  the  nest 
she  sometimes  turned  her  head  to  look  down  at 
the  dog  lying  beside  me,  and  often  hovered  over 
us  on  going  away. 

The  nest  was  saddled  on  a  twig  and  glued  to  a 
glossy  dark  green  oak  leaf.  Like  the  other  nest, 
it  was  made  of  a  spongy  yellow  substance,  prob- 
ably down  from  the  underside  of  sycamore  leaves  ; 
and  like  it,  also,  the  outside  was  coated  with  lichen 
and  wound  with  cobweb.  The  bird  was  a  rapid 
worker,  buzzing  in  with  her  material  and  then 
buzzing  off  after  more.  Once  I  saw  the  cobweb 
hanging  from  her  needle-like  bill,  and  thought 
she  probably  had  been  tearing  down  the  beauti- 
ful suspension  bridges  the  spiders  hang  from  tree 
to  tree. 

It  was  very  interesting  to  see  her  work.  She 
would  light  on  the  rim  of  the  nest,  or  else  drop 
directly  into  the  bottom  of  the  tiny  cup,  and  place 
her  material  with  the  end  of  her  long  bill.  It 
looked  like  trying  to  sew  at  arm's  length.  She 
had  to  draw  back  her  head  in  order  not  to  reach 
beyond  the  nest.  How  much  more  convenient  it 
would  have  been  if  her  bill  had  been  jointed  !  It 


152  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

seemed  better  suited  to  probing  flower  tubes  than 
making  nests.  But  then,  she  made  nests  only  in 
spring,  while  she  fed  from  flowers  all  the  year 
round,  and  so  could  afford  to  stretch  her  neck  a 
trifle  one  month  for  the  sake  of  having  a  good 
long  fly  spear  during  the  other  eleven.  The  pe- 
culiar feature  of  her  work  was  her  quivering 
motion  in  moulding.  When  her  material  was 
placed  she  moulded  her  nest  like  a  potter,  twirl- 
ing around  against  the  sides,  sometimes  pressing 
so  hard  she  ruffled  up  the  feathers  of  her  breast. 
She  shaped  her  cup  as  if  it  were  a  piece  of  clay. 
To  round  the  outside,  she  would  sit  on  the  rim  and 
lean  over,  smoothing  the  sides  with  her  bill,  often 
with  the  same  peculiar  tremulous  motion.  When 
working  on  the  outside,  at  times  she  almost  lost 
her  balance,  and  fluttered  to  keep  from  falling. 
To  turn  around  in  the  nest,  she  lifted  herself  by 
whirring  her  wings. 

When  she  found  a  bit  of  her  green  lichen  about 
to  fall,  she  took  the  loose  end  in  her  bill  and1"  drew 
it  over  the  edge  of  the  nest,  fastening  it  securely 
inside.  She  looked  very  wise  and  motherly  as 
she  sat  there  at  work,  preparing  a  home  for 
her  brood.  After  building  rapidly  she  would 
take  a  short  rest  on  a  twig  in  the  sun,  while 
she  plumed  her  feathers.  She  made  nest-making 
seem  very  pleasant  work. 

One  day,  wanting  to  experiment,  I  put  a  hand- 
ful of  oak  blossoms  on  the  nest.  They  covered 


HUMMERS.  153 

the  cup  and  hung  down  over  the  sides.  When 
the  small  builder  came,  she  hovered  over  it  a  few 
seconds  before  making  up  her  mind  how  it  got 
there  and  what  she  had  better  do  about  it.  Then 
she  calmly  lit  on  top  of  it !  Part  of  it  went  off 
as  she  did  so,  but  the  rest  she  appropriated, 
fastening  in  the  loose  ends  with  the  cobweb  she 
had  brought. 

She  often  gave  a  little  squeaky  call  when  on 
the  nest,  as  if  talking  to  herself  about  her  work. 
When  going  off  for  material  she  would  dart 
away  and  then,  as  if  it  suddenly  occurred  to  her 
that  she  did  not  know  where  she  was  going,  would 
stop  and  stand  perfectly  still  in  the  air,  her  vibrat- 
ing wings  sustaining  her  till  she  made  up  her 
mind,  when  she  would  shoot  off  at  an  angle.  It 
seemed  as  if  she  would  be  worn  out  before  night, 
but  her  eyes  were  bright  and  she  looked  vigorous 
enough  to  build  half  a  dozen  houses. 

"  There  's  odds  in  folks,"  our  great-grand- 
mothers used  to  say;  and  there  certainly  is  in 
bird  folks  ;  even  in  the  ways  of  the  same  one  at 
different  times.  Now  this  hummingbird  was  con- 
tent to  build  right  in  front  of  my  eyes,  and  the 
hummer  down  at  the  little  lover's  tree,  with  her 
first  nest,  was  so  indifferent  to  Billy  and  me  that 
I  took  no  pains  to  keep  at  a  distance  or  disguise 
the  fact  that  I  was  watching  her.  But  when  her 
nest  was  destroyed  she  suddenly  grew  old  in  the 
ways  of  the  world,  and  apparently  repented  having 


154  A-BIRDING    ON    A    BRONCO. 

trusted  us.  In  any  case,  I  got  a  lesson  on  being 
too  prying.  The  first  nest  had  not  been  down 
long  before  I  found  that  a  second  one  was  being 
built  only  a  few  feet  away  —  by  the  same  bird  ? 
I  imagined  so.  The  nest  was  only  just  begun, 
and  being  especially  interested  to  see  how  such 
buildings  were  started,  I  rode  close  up  to  watch 
the  work.  A  roll  of  yellow  sycamore  down  was 
wound  around  a  twig,  and  the  bottom  of  the  nest 
—  the  floor  —  attached  to  the  underside  of  this 
beam  ;  with  such  a  solid  foundation,  the  walls 
could  easily  be  supported. 

The  small  builder  came  when  Billy  and  I  were 
there.  She  did  not  welcome  us  as  old  friends, 
but  sat  down  on  her  floor  and  looked  at  us  —  and 
I  never  saw  her  there  again.  Worse  than  that, 
she  took  away  her  nest,  presumably  to  put  it  down 
where  she  thought  inquisitive  reporters  would  not 
intrude.  I  was  disappointed  and  grieved,  hav- 
ing already  planned  —  on  the  strength  of  the 
first  experience  —  to  have  the  mother  hummer's 
picture  taken  when  she  was  feeding  her  young  on 
the  nest. 

At  first  I  thought  this  suspicion  reflected  upon 
the  good  sense  of  hummingbirds,  but  after  think- 
ing it  over  concluded  that  it  spoke  better  for 
hummingbirds  than  for  Billy  and  me.  If  this 
were,  as  I  supposed,  the  same  bird  who  had  to 
brood  her  young  with  Billy  grazing  at  the  end 
of  her  bill,  and  if  she  had  been  present  at  the 


HUMMERS.  155 

unlucky  moment  when  he  got  the  oak  branches 
tangled  in  the  pommel  of  the  saddle,  although 
her  branch  was  not  among  them,  I  can  but  admire 
her  for  moving  when  she  found  that  the  Philis- 
tines were  again  upon  her,  for  her  new  house  was 
hung  at  the  tip  of  a  branch  that  Billy  might  easily 
have  swe«pt  in  passing. 

These  nests  had  all  been  very  low,  only  four  or 
five  feet  above  the  ground  ;  but  one  day  I  found 
young  in  one  of  the  common  treetop  nests.  I 
could  see  it  through  the  branches.  Two  little 
heads  stuck  up  above  the  edge  like  two  small 
Jacks-in-boxes.  Billy  made  such  a  noise  under 
the  oak  when  the  bird  was  feeding  the  youngsters 
that  I  took,  him  away  where  he  could  not  disturb 
the  family,  and  tied  him  to  an  oak  covered  with 
poison  ivy,  for  he  was  especially  fond  of  eating 
it,  and  the  poison  did  not  affect  him. 

Before  the  old  hummer  flew  off,  she  picked  up 
a  tiny  white  feather  that  she  found  in  the  nest, 
and  wound  it  around  a  twig.  On  her  return,  in 
the  midst  of  her  feeding,  she  darted  down  and  set 
the  feather  flying ;  but  as  it  got  away  from  her, 
she  caught  it  again.  The  performance  was 
repeated  the  next  time  she  came  with  food  ;  but 
she  did  it  all  so  solemnly  I  could  not  tell  whether 
she  were  playing  or  trying  to  get  rid  of  something 
that  annoyed  her. 

She  fed  at  the  long  intervals  that  are  so  trying 
to  an  observer,  for  if  you  are  going  to  sit  for  hours 


156  A-BIRDING    ON    A    BRONCO. 

with  your  eyes  glued  to  a  nest,  it  really  is  pleas- 
ant to  have  something  happen  once  in  a  while ! 
Though  the  mother  bird  did  not  go  to  the  nest 
often,  she  sometimes  flew  by,  and  once  the  sound 
of  her  wings  roused  the  young,  and  they  called 
out  to  her  as  she  passed.  When  they  were  awake, 
it  was  amusing  to  see  the  little  midgets  'stick  out 
their  long,  thread-like  tongues,  preen  their  pin- 
feathers,  and  stretch  their  wings  over  the  nest. 

One  fine  morning  when  I  went  to  the  oak  I 
heard  a  faint  squeak,  and  saw  something  flutter- 
ing up  in  the  tree.  When  the  mother  came,  she 
buzzed  about  as  though  not  liking  the  look  of 
things,  for  her  children  were  out  of  the  nest, 
and  behold  !  —  a  horse  and  rider  were  under  her 
tree.  She  tried  to  coax  the  unruly  nestlings  to 
follow  her  into  the  upper  stories,  but  they  would 
not  go. 

Although  not  ready  to  be  led,  one  of  the  infants 
soon  felt  that  it  would  be, nice  to  go  alone.  When 
a  bird  first  leaves  the  nest  it  goes  about  very 
gingerly,  but  this  little  fellow  now  began  to  feel 
his  strength  and  the  excitement  of  his  freedom. 
He  wiped  his  tongue  on  a  branch,  and  then,  to 
my  astonishment,  his  wings  began  to  whirl  as  if 
he  were  getting  up  steam,  and  presently  they 
lifted  him  from  his  twig,  and  he  went  whirring  off 
as  softly  as  a  hummingbird  moth,  among  the  oak 
sprays.  His  nerves  were  evidently  on  edge,  for 
he  looked  around  at  the  sound  of  falling  leaves, 


HUMMERS. 


157 


started  when  Billy  sneezed,  and  turned  from  side 
to  side  very  apprehensively,  in  spite  of  his  out-in- 
the- world,  big -boy  airs.  He  may  have  felt 
hampered  by  his  unused  wings,  for,  as  he  sat 


The  Swing1  Nest  of  the  Hummer. 
(From  a  Photograph.) 

there  waiting  for  his  mother  to  come,  he  stroked 
them  out  with  his  bill  to  get  them  in  better  work- 
ing order.  That  done,  he  leaned  over,  rounded 


158  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

his  shoulders,  and  pecked  at  a  leaf  as  if  he  were 
as  much  grown  up  as  anybody. 

Of  all  the  beautiful  hummingbirds'  nests  I  saw 
in  California,  three  are  particularly  noteworthy 
because  of  their  positions.  One  cup  was  set  down 
on  what  looked  like  an  inverted  saucer,  in  the 
form  of  a  dark  green  oak  leaf  wound  with  cobweb. 
That  was  in  the  oak  beside  the  ranch-house.  An- 
other one  was  on  a  branch  of  eucalyptus,  set 
between  two  leaves  like  the  knot  in  a  bow  of  stiff 
ribbon.  To  my  great  satisfaction,  the  photo- 
grapher was  able  to  induce  the  bird  to  have  a 
sitting  while  she  brooded  her  eggs.  The  third 
nest  I  imagined  belonged  to  the  bird  who  took  up 
her  floor  because  Billy  and  I  looked  at  her.  If 
she  were,  her  fate  was  certainly  hard,  for  her  eggs 
were  taken  by  some  one,  boy  or  beast.  Her  nest 
was  most  skillfully  supported.  It  was  fastened 
like  the  seat  of  a  swing  between  two  twigs  no 
larger  than  knitting-needles,  at  the  end  of  a  long 
drooping  branch.  It  was  a  unique  pleasure  to 
see  the  tiny  bird  sit  in  her  swing  and  be  blown 
by  the  wind.  Sometimes  she  went  circling  about 
as  though  riding  in  a  merry-go-round ;  and  at 
others  the  wind  blew  so  hard  her  round  boat  rose 
and  fell  like  a  little  ship  at  sea. 


XIII. 

IN  THE  SHADE  OF  THE  OAKS. 

THERE  "were  half  a  dozen  places  in  the  valley, 
irrigated  by  the  spring  rains,  where  I  was  always 
sure  of  finding  birds.  Among  them,  on  the  west 
side,  was  the  big  sycamore,  standing  at  the  lower 
end  of  the  valley ;  while  above,  in  the  north- 
west corner,  was  the  mouth  of  Twin  Oaks  can- 
yon where  the  migrants  flocked  in  the  brush 
around  the  large  twin  oak  that  overlooked  the 
little  old  schoolhouse.  On  the  east  side  was  the 
Ughland  canyon,  at  the  mouth  of  which  the  little 
lover  and  his  neighbors  nested ;  while  below  it 
straggled  the  line  of  sycamores  that  followed 
the  Ughland  stream  down  through  my  ranch. 
But  up  at  the  head  of  the  valley  beyond  the 
ranch-house  was  the  most  delightful  place  of  all. 
There  I  was  always  sure  of  finding  interesting 
nests  to  study. 

Surrounded  by  a  waste  of  chaparral,  it  was  a 
little  oasis  of  great  blooming  live-oaks,  and  iii 
their  shade  I  used  often  to  spend  the  hot  after- 
noon hours.  In  the  spring  the  water  that  flowed 
down  the  hills  at  the  head  of  the  valley  formed 
a  fresh  mountain  stream  that  ran  down  the  Oden 


160  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

canyon  and  so  on  through  the  centre  of  this 
grove,  feeding  the  oaks  and  spreading  out  to 
enrich  the  valley  below.  In  summer,  like  the 
rest  of  the  canyon  streams,  only  its  dry  sandy 
bed  remained.  Then,  when  the  meadows  were 
oppressively  hot,  my  leafy  garden  was  a  shady 
bower  to  linger  in.  Its  long  drooping  branches 
hung  to  the  ground,  dainty  yellow  warblers  flit- 
ted about  the  golden  tassels  of  the  blossoming 
trees,  and  the  air  was  full  of  the  happy  songs 
of  mated  birds. 

The  trail  from  the  ranch-house  to  the  oaks 
was  a  line  through  the  low  grass  in  which  grew 
yellow  fly  flowers  and  orange  poppies ;  and  over 
them  every  spring,  day  after  day,  processions 
of  migrating  butterflies  drifted  slowly  up  the 
canyon.  At  the  entrance  of  the  garden  was  a 
sentinel  oak  whose  dark  green  foliage  contrasted 
well  with  the  yellow  flowers  in  the  grass  outside. 
It  was  the  chosen  hunting-ground  of  many  birds. 
Its  dead  upper  branches  offered  the  bee-birds 
and  woodpeckers  an  unobstructed  view  of  pass- 
ing insects,  and  gave  the  jays  and  flickers  a 
chance  to  overlook  the  brush  and  take  their 
bearings.  The  lower  limbs  offered  perches 
where  doves  might  come  to  rest,  finchea  to  chat- 
ter, and  chewinks  to  sing;  while  its  hanging 
boughs  and  elm-like  feathered  sides  attracted 
wandering  warblers  and  songful  wrens. 

The  happy  days  spent  among  these  beautiful 


IN    THE    SHADE    OF    THE    OAKS.      161 

California  oaks  are  now  far  in  the  past,  but  as 
I  sit  in  my  study  in  the  East  and  dream  back 
over  those  hours  my  mind  is  filled  with  memory 
pictures.  Sauntering  through  this  oaken  gallery, 
each  tree  recalls  some  pleasant  hour  —  the  sight 
of  a  new  bird,  the  sound  of  a  new  song,  the  pro- 
longed delight  of  some  cozy  home  that  I  watched 
till  accepted  as  a  friend,  when  the  little  family's 
fears  and  joys  were  my  own. 

That  big  double  oak,  spreading  across  the 
middle  of  the  garden,  was  the  haunted  tree 
whose  blue  ghost  drove  away  the  pewees  and 
gnatcatchers  after  they  had  begun  to  build ; 
though  the  vireos  and  bush-tits  braved  it  out, 
and  the  tiny  hummer  and  gentle  dove  were  not 
afraid  to  perch  there.  This  was  hummingbird 
lane  —  that  small  oak  held  the  nest  in  which 
the  two  wee  nestlings  sat  up  like  Jacks-in-the- 
box  ;  these  blue  sage  bushes  growing  in  the  sand 
were  the  ones  the  honey  bees  and  hummers  used 
to  haunt,  the  hummers  probing  each  lavender 
lip  as  they  circled  round  the  whorls ;  in  front  of 
this  bush  I  saw  a  fairy  dancer  perform  his  airy » 
minuet,  —  swing  back  and  forth,  and  then  sweep 
up  in  the  air  to  dive  whirring  down  with  gorget 
puffed  out  and  tail  spread  wide ;  and  here,  when 
watching  a  procession  of  ants,  I  discovered  a 
tiny  hummingbird  building  in  a  drooping  branch 
that  overhung  the  trail.  That  dead  limb  was 
the  perch  of  a  wood  pewee,  a  silent  grave  bird 


162  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

with  a  sad  call,  who  flew  on  when  he  was  still 
only  a  lonely  stranger.  That  oak  top  was  made 
memorable  by  the  sight  of  a  flaming  oriole, 
though  he  came  on  a  cold  foggy  morning  and 
answered  my  calls  with  a  broken  song  and  a 
half-hearted  scold  as  he  sat  with  his  feathers 
ruffled  up  about  him.  Under  the  low  spreading 
branches  of  that  tree  the  chewinks  used  to 
scratch  —  I  can  hear  the  brown  leaves  rustle 
now  —  the  branches  were  so  low  that,  if  the  shy 
birds  flew  up  to  rest  from  their  labors,  they  could 
quickly  drop  down  and  disappear  in  the  brush. 

On  ahead,  where  the  garden  narrows  to  the 
trail  between  the  walls  of  brush,  when  I  was 
hidden  behind  a  screen  of  branches,  the  timid 
white-crowned  sparrows  used  to  venture  out, 
hopping  along  quietly  or  stopping  to  sing  and 
pick  up  seeds  on  the  path.  Back  a  few  steps 
was  the  tree  where  the  bush-tits  came  to  build 
their  second  nest  after  the  roof  of  the  first  one 
fell  in ;  the  nest  which  hung  on  such  a  low 
limb  that  I  watched  it  from  the  sand  beneath, 
looking  up  through  the  branches  at  the  blue 
sky,  the  canyon  walls  covered  with  sun-whitened 
bowlders,  and  the  turkey  buzzards  circling  over 
the  mountains. 

Just  there,  in  that  small  open  place  between 
the  trees,  —  how  well  I  renifniber  the  afternoon, 
—  I  saw  a  new  bird  come  out  of  the  bushes ; 
the  green-tailed  chewink  he  proved  to  be,  on  his 


IN    THE    SHADE    OF    THE    OAKS.      163 

way  back  to  the  Rocky  Mountains,  He  was  a 
beautiful  stranger  with  a  soft  glossy  coat  touched 
off  with  yellowish  green,  while  his  high-bred 
gentle  manners  have  made  me  remember  him 
with  affectionate  interest  all 
these  years.  Acrossthe  gar- 
den I  heard  my  first  song 
from  that  unique  rhapsodist, 
the  yellow-breasted  chat. 
The  same  place  marks  an- 
other interesting  experience.  Green-tailed  Chewink. 

While    I    Was    sitting     in    the          (One  half  natural  size.) 

crotch  of  an  oak  a  thrasher  came  out  of  the 
brush  into  an  open  space  in  front  of  me.  Her 
feathers  were  disordered  and  apparently  she 
had  come  from  her  nest.  She  walked  with 
wings  tight  at  her  sides  and  her  tail  up  at  an 
angle  well  out  of  the  way  of  the  rustling 
leaves ;  altogether  a  neat  alert  figure  that 
contrasted  sharply  with  the  lazy  brown  chip- 
pie which  appeared  just  then  in  characteristic 
negligee,  its  wings  hanging  and  tail  drag- 
ging on  the  ground.  The  thrashers  of  Twin 
Oaks  have  bills  that  are  curved  like  a  sickle, 
and  this  bird  used  her  tool  most  skillfully.  In- 
stead of  scratching  up  the  leaves  and  earth  with 
her  feet  as  chewinks  and  sparrows  do,  the 
thrasher  used  her  bill  almost  exclusively.  First 
she  cleared  a  space  by  scraping  the  leaves  away, 
moving  her  bill  through  them  rapidly  from  side 


164  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

to  side.  Then  she  made  two  holes  in  the  ground, 
probing  deep  with  her  long  bill.  After  taking 
what  she  could  get  from  the  second  hole,  she 
went  back  to  the  first  again,  as  if  to  see  if  any- 
thing had  come  to  the  surface  there.  Then  she 
lay  down  on  the  sand  to  snn  herself  and  acted 
as  though  going  to  take  a  sun  bath,  when  sud- 
denly she  discovered  me  and  fled. 

When  watching  the  bird  at  work  I  got  a 
pretty  picture  in  the  round  disk  of  my  opera- 
glass.  The  glass  was  focused  on  the  digging 
thrasher,  but  a  goldfinch  came  into  the  picture 
and  pulled  at  some  stems  for  its  nest  and  a  cot- 
tontail ran  rapidly  across  from  rim  to  rim.  I 
lifted  the  glass  to  follow  him  and  saw  him  go 
trotting  down  the  path  between  the  bushes. 

The  thrasher's  curved  bill  gives  a  most  ludi- 
crous look  to  the  bird  when  singing.  He  looks 
as  if  he  were  trying  to  turn  himself  inside  out. 
I  once  saw  an  adult  thrasher  tease  its  mate  for 
food,  and  wondered  how  it  would  be  possible 
for  one  curved  bill  to  feed  another  curved  bill ; 
but  a  few  days  later  I  came  on  a  family  of  young, 
and  discovered  for  myself  that  they  have  straight 
bills  ;  a  most  curious  and  interesting  instance  of 
adaptation. 

At  the  head  of  the  garden  stands  a  tree  that 
always  reminds  me  of  the  horses  I  rode  in  Cali- 
fornia. I  watched  my  first  bush-tit's  nest  under 
it,  with  Canello  grazing  near ;  and  five  years  later 


IN    THE    SHADE    OF    THE    OAKS.      165 

watched  another  bush-tit's  nest  there,  sitting  in 
the  crotch  of  the  oak  with  Mountain  Billy  looking 
over  my  shoulder.  Although  Billy  was,  in  his 
prime,  a  bucking  mustang,  he  became  more  of  a 
petted  companion  than  Canello  had  been  ;  and 
when  we  were  out  alone  together,  we  were  a  great 
deal  of  company  for  each  other.  As  soon  as  I 
dismounted  he  would  put  his  head  down  to  have 
me  slip  the  reins  off  over  his  ears,  so  that  he 
could  graze  by  himself.  Sometimes,  when  he 
stood  behind  me  he  rested  his  bridle  on  my  sun- 
hat,  and  once  went  so  far  as  to  take  a  bite  out 
of  the  brim  —  in  consideration  of  its  being  straw. 
If  I  were  sitting  on  the  ground  and  he  was  grazing 
near,  he  would  at  times  walk  up  and  gravely  raise 
his  face  to  look  into  mine.  When  he  got  tired, 
he  would  rub  up  against  my  arm  and  yawn,  look- 
ing down  at  me  with  a  friendly  smile  in  his  eyes. 
Birding  was  rather  dull  for  Billy  —  when  there 
was  neither  grass  nor  poison  ivy  at  hand,  but  he 
had  one  never-failing  source  of  enjoyment  - 
rolling.  He  tried  it  in  the  sand  under  the  oak, 
one  day,  with  the  saddle  on.  Before  I  knew  what 
he  was  about  he  was  down  on  his  knees,  sitting 
still,  with  a  comical,  helpless  look  in  his  eyes,  as 
if  quite  at  a  loss  to  know  what  to  do  next,  having 
become  conscious  of  the  saddle.  When  I  had 
gotten  him  on  his  feet  and  finished  lecturing  him 
I  uricinched  the  saddle,  laid  it  one  side  on  the 
ground,  took  hold  of  the  end  of  the  long  bridle, 


166  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

and  told  him  to  roll.  A  droll  abstracted  look 
came  into  his  eyes,  he  dropped  on  his  knees  and, 
with  a  sudden  convulsion,  threw  his  heels  into  the 
air  and  rolled  back  and  forth,  rubbing  his  back- 
bone vigorously  on  the  sand.  After  'that,  the  first 
thing  every  morning  when  we  got  to  the  oaks,  I 
unsaddled  him  and  let  him  roll,  and  then  he  would 
stand  with  bare  back  keeping  cool  in  the  shade  of 
the  trees. 

One  morning  as  we  stood  under  the  bush-tit's 
tree,  I  discovered  a  pair  of  turtle  doves  looking 
out  at  me  from  the  leaves  of  the  small  oak  oppo- 
site, craning  their  necks  and  moving  their  heads 
uneasily.  One  of  them  seemed  to  be  shaping  a 
nest  of  twigs.  I  drew  Billy  around  between  us, 
so  that  my  staring  would  seem  less  pointed,  and 
when  one  of  the  pair  flew  to  the  ground  to  spy  at 
me,  hurriedly  looked  the  other  way  to  remove  his 
anxiety.  His  mate  soon  joined  him,  and  the  two 
doves  walked  away  together,  fixed  their  feathers 
in  the  sun,  stretched  their  wings,  and  lazily  picked 
at  the  ground.  When  one  whirred  back  to  the 
nest,  the  other  soon  followed.  The  gentle  lovers 
put  their  bills  together,  while,  unnoticed,  I  stood 
behind  Billy,  looking  on  and  thinking  that  it  was 
little  wonder  such  birds  should  rise  from  the 
ground  with  a  musical  whirr. 

Billy's  oak  was  thelast  of  the  high  trees  in  the 
garden.  Above  it  was  a  grassy  space  where 
bright  wild  flowers  bloomed,  and  pretty  cottontail 


IN    THE    SHADE    OF    THE    OAKS.      167 

rabbits  often  went  ambling  over  the  soft  turf. 
On  one  side  of  the  opening  was  a  low  stocky  oak, 
full  of  balls  of  mistletoe,  and  on  the  other  a  great 
blossoming  bush  buzzing  with  hummingbirds. 
The  mistletoe  had  begun  to  sap  the  little  oak,  and 
on  one  of  its  dead  twigs  a  hummingbird  had  taken 
to  perching.  I  wondered  if  he  were  the  idle  mate 
of  one  of  my  small  garden  builders,  but  he  sat 
and  sunned  himself  as  if  his  conscience  were  quite 
clear. 

My  first  experience  with  gnatcatchers  had  been 
here.  I  suspected  a  nest,  and  the  ranchman's 
daughter  went  with  me  to  hunt  through  the  brush. 
She  cautioned  me  to  look  out  for  rattlesnakes, 
but  the  brush  was  so  dense  and  the  ground  so 
covered  with  crooked  snake-like  sticks  that  it 
was  not  an  easy  matter  to  tell  what  you  were 
stepping  on.  Then,  the  poison  oak  was  so  thick 
that  I  felt  like  holding  up  my  hands  to  avoid  it. 
We  pushed  our  way  through  the  dense  chaparral, 
and  my  fearless  companion  got  down  on  her  hands 
and  knees  to  look  through  the  tangle  for  the  nest. 
It  was  hard  disagreeable  work,  even  if  one  did 
not  object  to  snakes,  and  we  were  soon  so  tired 
that  we  were  ready  to  sit  down  and  let  the  birds 
show  us  to  their  house.  We  might  have  saved 
ourselves  all  the  trouble  if  we  had  done  this  to 
begin  with,  for  it  was  only  a  few  moments  before 
the  little  pair  went  to  the  mistletoe  oak,  out  in 
plain  sight  and  within  easy  reach  —  how  thej 


168  A-BIRDING    ON    A    BRONCO. 

would  have  laughed  in  their  sleeves  had  they 
known  what  we  were  hunting  for  back  in  the 
brush  !  The  nest  was  about  the  size  of  a  chilicothe 
pod,  and  so  covered  with  lichen  that  it  looked  just 
like  a  knot  on  the  tree. 

Around  the  blossoming  bush  the  air  fairly  vi- 
brated with  hummers,  darting  up  into  the  sky, 
shooting  down  and  chasing  each  other  pell  mell 
—  sometimes  almost  into  my  face.  As  I  sat  by 
the  bush  one  day,  a  handsome  male  went  around 
with  upraised  throat,  poking  his  bill  up  the  red 
fuchsia-like  tubes.  Another  one  was  flying  around 
inside  the  bush,  and  I  edged  nearer  to  see.  The 
sun  shone  in,  whitening  the  twigs,  and  as  the  bird 
whirred  about  with  a  soft  burring  sound,  I  caught 
gleams  of  red,  gold,  and  green  from  his  gorget, 
and  could  see  the  tiny  bird  rest  his  wee  feet  on  a 
twig  to  reach  up  to  a  blossom.  Then  he  hummed 
what  sounded  more  like  a  love  song  than  anything 
I  had  ever  heard  from  a  hummingbird.  He 
seemed  so  much  more  like  a  real  bird  than  any  of 
his  brothers  that  I  felt  attracted  to  him. 

One  morning  a  little  German  girl,  in  a  red 
pinafore,  and  with  hair  flying,  came  riding  down 
the  sand  stream  toward  my  bush.  Her  colt  reared 
and  pranced,  but  she  sat  as  firmly  as  if  she  had 
been  a  small  centaur.  It  was  a  holiday,  and  she 
was  staking  out  her  horses  to  graze,  making  gala- 
day  work  of  it.  She  had  one  horse  down  by  the 
little  oak  already,  and  springing  off  the  one  she 


IN    THE    SHADE    OF    THE    OAKS.      169 

had  brought,  changed  about,  jumped  as  lightly  as 
a  bird  upon  the  other's  back  and  raced  home. 
Soon  she  came  galloping  back  again,  and  so  she 
went  and  came  until  tired  out,  for  pure  fun  on 
her  free  holiday. 

In  looking  over  the  bright  memory  pictures  of 
my  beautiful  oak  garden,  there  is  one  to  which  I 
always  return.  The  spreading  trunks  of  a  great 
five-stemmed  tree  on  one  side  of  the  grove  made 
a  dark  oaken  couch,  screened  by  the  leafy  willow- 
like  branches  that  hung  to  the  ground.  Here  — 
after  looking  to  see  that  there  were  no  rattlesnakes 
coiled  in  the  dead  leaves  —  I  spent  many  a  dreamy 
hour,  reclining  idly  as  I  listened  to  the  free  songs 
of  the  birds  that  could  not  see  me  •  behind  my 
curtain.  It  was  interesting  to  note  the  way  cer- 
tain sounds  predominated  ;  certain  songs  would 
absorb  one's  attention,  and  then  pass  and  be  re- 
placed by  others.  At  one  time  a  jay's  scream 
would  jar  on  the  ear  and  drown  all  other  voices ; 
when  that  had  passed,  the  chewinks  would  fly  up 
from  the  leaves  and  sing  and  answer  each  other 
till  the  air  was  quivering  with  their  trills.  Then 
came  the  thrashers,  with  their  loud  rollicking 
songs ;  and  when  they  had  pitched  down  into  the 
brush,  out  rang  the  clear  bell-like  tones  of  the 
wren-tit,  filling  the  air  with  sound.  Afterwards 
the  impatient  whipped-out  notes  of  the  chaparral 
vireo  were  followed  by  the  soft  cooing  of  doves ; 
and  then,  as  the  wind  stirred  the  trees  and  sent 


170  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

the  loosened  oak  blossoms  drifting  to  the  ground, 
from  high  out  of  an  oak  top  came  a  most  exquisite 
song.  At  the  first  note  of  this  grosbeak  all  other 
songs  were  forgotten  —  they  were  noise  and 
chatter  —  this  was  pure  music.  It  was  like  pass- 
ing from  the  cries  of  the  street  into  the  hall  of  a 
symphony  concert.  The  black-headed  grosbeak 
has  not  the  spirituality  of  the  hermit  thrush,  and 
his  ordinary  song  is  not  so  remarkable,  but  his 
love  song  excels  that  of  any  bird  I  have  ever  heard 
in  finish,  rich  melody,  and  music.  As  I  listened, 
my  surroundings  harmonized  so  perfectly  with  the 
wonderful  song  echoing  through  the  great  trees 
that  the  old  oak  garden  seemed  an  enchanted 
bower.  The  drooping  branches  were  a  leafy  lat- 
tice through  which  the  afternoon  sun  filtered, 
steeping  the  oaks  in  thick  still  sunshine.  Last 
year's  leaves  drifted  slowly  to  the  ground,  while 
the  bees  droned  about  the  yellow  tassels  of  the 
blooming  trees.  As  a  violinist,  lingering  to  per- 
fect a  note,  draws  his  bow  again  and  again  over 
the  strings,  so  this  rapt  musician  dwelt  tenderly 
on  his  highest  notes,  trolling  them  over  till  each 
was  more  exquisite  and  tender  than  the  last,  and 
the  ear  was  charmed  with  his  love  song  —  a  song 
of  ideal  love  fit  to  be  dreamed  of  in  this  stately 
green  oak  garden  filled  with  golden  sunlight. 


XIV. 

A   MYSTERIOUS   TRAGEDY. 

ON  a  peg  just  inside  the  door  of  the  ranch- 
man's old  wine  shed  hung  -one  of  the  horses'  un- 
used nosebags.  A  lad  on  the  place  told  me  that 
a  wren  had  a  nest  in  it,  and  added  that  he  had 
seen  a  fight  between  the  wren  and  a  pair  of 
linnets  who  seemed  to  be  trying  to  steal  her 
material. 

The  first  time  I  went  to  the  wine  shed  both 
wrens  and  linnets  were  there,  but  nothing  hap- 
pened and  I  forgot  about  the  original  quarrel. 
By  peering  through  a  crack  in  the  boarding  I 
could  look  down  on  the  wren  in  the  nosebag  in- 
side. I  could  see  her  dark  eyes,  the  white  line 
over  them,  and  her  black  barred  tail.  She  was 
Vigor's  wren.  She  got  so  tame  that  she  would 
not  stir  when  the  creaking  door  was  opened  close 
by  her,  or  when  people  were  talking  in  the  shed ; 
and  I  used  to  go  often  to  see  how  her  affairs  were 
progressing. 

All  her  eggs  hatched  in  time,  and  the  small 
birds,  from  being  at  first  all  eyeball,  soon  got  to 
be  all  bill.  When  I  opened  the  bag  to  look  at 
them,  the  light  woke  them  up  and  they  opened 
their  mouths,  showing  chasms  of  yellow  throat. 


172  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

The  mother  bird  fed  them  several  times  when 
I  was  watching  only  a  few  feet  away.  She  would 
come  ambling  along  in  the  pretty  wren  fashion, 
with  her  tail  over  her  back ;  creeping  down  the 
side  of  a  lath,  running  behind  a  rafter,  scolding 
as  though  to  make  conversation,  and  then  wind- 
ing down  to  the  nest  through  a  crack.  One  day 
she  hesitated,  and  waited  to  spy  at  me,  since  I 
had  thought  it  polite  to  stare  at  her !  When  sat- 
isfied, she  hopped  along  from  beam  to  beam,  her 
bright  e}^es  still  upon  me.  Then  her  mate  joined 
her.  He  had  been  suspicious  of  me  at  our  first 
meeting,  but  apparently  had  changed  his  mind, 
for,  seeing  his  spouse  hesitate,  he  glanced  at  me 
unconcernedly,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  Is  she  all 
you  're  waiting  for  ?  "  and  flew  out,  leaving  her  to 
my  tender  mercies.  She  hopped  meekly  into  the 
bag  after  that  rebuke,  but  stretched  up  to  peer  at 
me  once  more  before  settling  down  inside. 

One  day  when  I  looked  in  to  see  how  wren 
matters  were  progressing,  to  my  amazement  and 
horror,  instead  of  my  wren's  nest  I  found  another, 
high  in  the  mouth  of  the  bag  with  one  fresh  egg 
in  it !  The  egg  was  a  linnet's,  and  the  nest  had 
been  built  right  on  top  of  the  wren's.  Such  a 
stench  came  from  the  bag  that  I  took  out  the 
upper  nest  and  found  the  four  little  wrens  dead 
in  their  crib. 

I  had  become  very  fond  of  the  winsome  mother 
bird,  and  so  much  interested  in  her  brood  that 


The  Nosebag  Nest. 
(Vigors's  Wren.) 


174  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

this  horrid  discovery  came  like  a  tragedy  in  the 
family  of  a  friend. 

And  what  did  it  all  mean?  Unless  the  old 
wrens  had  been  dead,  could  the  linnets  have 
gotten  possession  ?  The  wrens  were  usually  able 
to  hold  their  own  in  a  discussion.  If  the  nestlings 
had  been  alive,  would  the  linnets  —  would  any 
bird  —  have  built  upon  them,  deliberately  bury- 
ing them  alive?  It  seemed  too  diabolical.  On 
the  other  hand,  what  could  have  killed  the  little 
wrens  and  left  them  in  the  nest  ?  If  they  had 
been  dead  when  the  linnets  came  to  build,  how 
could  the  birds  have  chosen  such  a  sepulchre  for 
a  building  site  ? 

Grieving  over  my  little  friends,  I  cleaned  out 
the  nosebag  and  hung  it  up  on  its  peg.  Three 
weeks  later  I  discovered,  to  my  great  perplexity^ 
that  a  pair  of  wrens  had  built  in  the  bottom  of 
the  bag  and  had  one  egg  in  the  nest.  Now,  was 
this  the  same  pair  of  birds  that  had  built  there 
before,  and  if  so,  what  did  it  all  mean  ? 


XV. 

HOW   I    HELPED    BUILD   A   NEST. 

THEY  picked  out  their  crack  in  the  oak  and 
began  to  build  without  any  advice  from  me,  win- 
ning little  gray-crested  titmice  that  they  were. 
Their  oak  was  right  behind  the  ranch-house  barn  ; 
I  found  it  by  hearing  the  bird  sing  there.  The 
little  fellow,  warmed  by  his  song,  flitted  up  the 
tree  a  branch  higher  after  each  repetition  of  his 
loud  cheery  tu-whit',  tu-whit',  tu-whit',  tu-whit'. 
Meanwhile  his  pretty  mate,  with  bits  of  stick  in 
her  bill,  walked  down  a  crack  in  the  oak  trunk. 

Thinking  she  had  gone,  I  went  to  examine  the 
place.  I  poked  about  with  a  twig  but  could  n't 
find  the  nest  till,  down  in  the  bottom  of  the  crack, 
I  spied  a  little  gray  head  and  a  pair  of  bright 
eyes  looking  up  at  me.  The  bird  started  forward 
as  if  to  dart  out,  but  changed  her  mind  and  stayed 
in  while  I  took  a  hasty  look  and  fled,  more  fright- 
ened than  she  by  the  intrusion. 

The  titmice  had  been  flying  back  and  forth 
from  the  hen-yard  with  chicken's  feathers,  and  it 
seemed  such  slow  work  for  them  I  thought  I 
would  help  them.  So  the  next  day,  when  the 
pair  were  away,  I  stuffed  a  few  white  feathers 


176 


A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 


into  the  mouth  of  the  nest  and  withdrew  under 
the  shadow  of  the  barn  to  watch  through  my 
glass  without  being  observed.  Then  my  con- 
science began  to  trouble  me.  What  if  this  inter- 


The  Plain  Titmouse  in  her  Doorway. 

ference  should  drive  the  gentle  bird  to  desert  her 
nest? 

When  I  heard  the  familiar  chickadee  call  — 
the  titmouse  often  chirrups  like  his  cousin  —  it 
made  me  quake  guiltily.  What  would  the  birds 
do?  The  gray  pair  came  flying  in  with  crests 


HOW   I    HELPED    BUILD    A    NEST.     177 

raised,  and  my  small  friend  hopped  down  to  her 
doorway.  She  gave  a  start  of  surprise  at  sight  of 
the  feathers,  but  after  a  moment's  hesitation  went 
bravely  in !  While  she  was  inside,  her  mate 
waited  in  the  tree,  singing  for  her  ;  and  when  she 
came  out,  he  flew  away  with  her.  Then  I  crept 
up  to  the  oak,  and  to  my  delight  found  that  all 
the  feathers  had  disappeared.  She  evidently 
believed  in  taking  what  the  gods  provide.  In 
fact,  she  seemed  only  to  wish  that  they  would  pro- 
vide more,  for,  after  taking  a  second  supply  from 
me,  she  stood  in  the  vestibule,  cocked  her  crested 
head,  and  looked  about  as  if  expecting  to  see  new 
treasures. 

She  had  common-sense  enough  to  take  what 
she  found  at  hand,  but  if  she  had  not  been  such 
a  plucky  little  builder  she  would  have  been  scared 
away  by  the  strange  sights  that  afterwards  met 
her  at  her  nest.  Once  when  she  came,  feathers 
were  sticking  in  the  bark  all  around  the  crack. 
She  hesitated  —  the  rush  of  her  flight  probably 
fanned  the  air  so  the  white  plumes  waved  in  her 
face  —  she  hesitated  and  looked  around  timidly 
before  getting  courage  to  go  in  ;  and  on  leaving 
the  nest  flew  away  in  nervous  haste ;  but  she  was 
soon  back  again,  and  ready  to  take  the  feathers 
down  inside  the  oak.  She  caught  hold  of  the  tip 
of  one  that  was  wedged  into  a  crack,  and  tugged 
and  tugged  till  I  was  afraid  she  would  get  dis- 
couraged and  go  off  without  it.  She  got  it,  how- 


178  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

ever,  and  drew  it  in  backwards.  Then  she  attacked 
another  feather,  but  finding  that  it  came  harder 
than  the  first,  let  go  her  hold  and  took  an  easier 
one.  She  was  not  to  be  daunted,  though,  and 
after  stowing  away  the  loose  one  came  back  for 
the  tight  one  again,  and  persevered  till  she  bent 
it  in  several  places,  besides  breaking  off  the  tip. 

When  she  had  flown  off,  I  jumped  up,  ran  to 
the  oak,  and  stuffed  the  doorway  full  of  feathers. 
Before  I  had  finished,  the  family  sentinel  caught 
me  —  I  had  been  in  too  much  of  a  hurry  and  he 
had  heard  me  walking  over  the  cornstalks.  He 
eyed  me  suspiciously  and  gave  vent  to  his  disap- 
proval, but  I  addressed  him  in  such  friendly  terms 
that  he  soon  flew  off  and  talked  to  his  mate  reas- 
suringly, as  if  he  had  decided  that  it  was  all  right 
after  all.  After  their  conversation  she  came  back 
and  made  the  best  of  her  way  right  down  through 
the  feather-bed  !  I  went  away  delighted  with 
her  perseverance,  and  charmed  by  her  confidence 
and  pretty  performances. 

The  next  day  I  heard  the  titmouse  singing  in 
an  elder  by  the  kitchen,  and  went  out  to  see  how 
the  birds  acted  when  gathering  their  own  material. 
The  songster  was  idly  hunting  through  the 
branches,  singing,  while  his  mate  —  busy  little 
housewife  —  was  hard  at  work  getting  her  build- 
ing stuff.  She  had  something  in  her  beak  when  I 
caught  sight  of  her,  but  in  an  instant  was  down  on 
the  ground  after  another  bit.  Then  she  flew  up 


HOW    I   HELPED    BUILD    A    NEST.     179 

in  the  tree  looking  among  the  leaves ;  in  passing 
she  swung  a  moment  on  a  strap  hanging  from  a 
branch  ;  then  flew  down  among  the  weeds,  back 
up  in  the  tree  again ;  and  so  back  and  forth,  over 
and  over,  her  bill  getting  fuller  and  fuller. 

I  was  glad  to  save  her  work,  and  interested  to 
see  how  far  she  would  accept  my  help.  Once 
when  I  blocked  the  entrance  with  feathers  and 
horsehair  she  stopped,  and,  though  her  bill  was 
full,  picked  up  the  packet  and  flew  out  on  a 
branch  with  it.  Was  she  going  to  throw  away  my 
present?  For  a  moment  my  faith  in  her  was 
shaken.  Perhaps  her  mate  had  been  warning  her 
to  beware  of  me.  She  did  drop  the  mat  of  horse- 
hair —  what  did  such  a  dainty  Quaker  lady  as 
she  want  of  horsehair  ?  —  but  she  kept  tight  hold 
of  one  of  the  feathers,  although  it  was  almost  as 
big  as  she  was,  and  flew  back  quickly  to  the  nest 
with  it. 

This  performance  proved  one  point.  She  would 
not  take  everything  that  was  brought  to  her.  She 
preferred  to  hunt  for  her  own  materials  rather 
than  use  what  she  did  not  like.  Now  the  ques- 
tion was,  what  did  she  like  ? 

My  next  experiment  was  with  some  lamp  wick 
to  which  I  had  tied  bits  of  cotton.  The  titmouse 
took  the  cotton  and  would  have  taken  the  wicking, 
I  think,  if  it  had  not  been  fastened  in  too  tight 
for  her.  After  that  I  tried  tying  bits  of  cotton 
to  strings,  and  letting  them  dangle  before  the 


180  A-BIRDING    ON   A  *  BRONCO. 

mouth  of  the  nest.  Though  I  moved  up  to  within 
twenty  feet  of  the  nest,  she  paid  no  attention  to 
me  but  hurried  in.  She  liked  the  cotton  so  well 
she  stopped  in  her  hallway,  reached  up  to  pull  at 
the  white  bundles,  and  tweaked  and  tugged  till, 
finally,  she  backed  triumphantly  down  the  hole 
with  one. 

Her  mate,  less  familiar  with  my  experiments, 
started  to  go  to  the  nest  after  her,  but  the  sight  of 
the  cotton  scared  him  so  he  fled  ignominiously 
back  into  the  treetop.  He  stayed  there  singing 
till  she  came  out,  when  he  flew  up  to  her  with  a 
dainty  he  had  discovered  —  at  least  the  two  put 
their  bills  together ;  perhaps  it  was  just  a  caress, 
for  they  were  a  tender,  gentle  little  pair. 

Having  proved  that  my  bird  liked  feathers  and 
cotton,  I  wanted  to  see  what  she  thought  of  straws. 
Apparently  she  did  not  think  much  of  them.  She 
looked  very  much  dashed  when  she  came  home 
and  found  the  yellow  sticks  protruding  from  the 
nest  hole.  She  hesitated,  turned  her  head  over, 
flew  to  a  twig  on  one  side  of  the  oak  and  then 
back  to  one  on  the  other  side.  Finally  she 
mustered  courage,  and  with  her  crest  flattened  as 
if  she  did  not  like  it,  darted  down  into  the  hole. 
When  she  flew  out,  however,  she  went  right  to 
her  mate,  and  forgetting  all  her  troubles  at  sight 
of  him,  fluttered  her  wings  and  lisped  like  a  young 
bird  as  she  put  up  her  bill  to  have  him  feed  her. 

Perhaps  it  was  unkind  to  bother  the  poor  bird 


HOW   I   HELPED    BUILD    A    NEST.     181 

any  more,  but  I  meant  her  no  harm  and  the  fever 
for  experiment  possessed  my  blood.  I  tied  some 
of  the  straws  to  a  piece  of  wicking  and  baited  it 
with  feathers,  thinking  that  perhaps  she  would 
take  the  straws  for  the  sake  of  the  feathers  and 
wicking.  I  also  stuffed  the  hole  with  horsehair. 
She  did  pull  at  the  feather  end  of  the  line ;  I  saw 
the  straw  jerk,  and,  when  she  had  left,  found  a 
round  hole  the  brave  little  bird  had  made  right 
through  the  middle  of  the  mat  of  horsehair  I  had 
stopped  the  nest  with. 

Straws  and  horsehair  the  titmouse  evidently 
classed  together.  They  were  not  on  her  list  of 
building  materials.  On  reflection  she  decided 
that  the  horsehair  would  make  a  good  hall  car- 
pet, so  left  it  in  the  vestibule,  though  she  would 
have  none  of  it  down  in  her  nest ;  but  she  calmly 
threw  my  straws  down  on  the  ground  at  the  foot 
of  the  oak. 

I  don't  know  what  experiments  I  might  have 
been  tempted  to  try  next  had  I  not  suddenly  found 
myself  dismissed  —  the  house  was  complete.  My 
pretty  Quaker  lady  sat  in  the  shade  of  the  oak 
leaves  with  crest  raised  and  the  flickering  sunlight 
flecking  her  gray  breast.  She  pecked  softly  at 
one  of  the  white  feathers  that  blew  up  against 
her  as  she  listened  to  the  song  of  her  mate ;  and 
then  flew  away  to  him  without  once  going  to  the 
nest.  Evidently  her  work  was  done,  and  she  was 
waiting  till  it  should  be  time  to  begin  brooding. 


182  A-BIRDING    ON  A    BRONCO. 

Ten  days  later  I  saw  her  mate  come  with  his 
bill  full  of  worms  and  lean  down  by  the  hole  to 
call  her.  She  answered  with  a  sweet  pleading 
twitter,  and  reached  up  to  be  fed.  When  he  had 
gone,  perhaps  she  thought  she  would  like  a  second 
bite.  At  any  rate,  she  hopped  out  in  the  door- 
way and  flew  off  to  another  tree,  calling  out  tsche- 
de-de  so  sweetly  he  would  surely  have  come  back 
to  her  had  he  been  within  hearing. 

A  few  days  later  I  saw  him  feed  her  at  the  nest 
five  or  six  times  in  half  an  hour.  He  would  come 
to  the  next  oak,  light  arid  call  to  her,  when  she 
would  answer  from  inside  the  tree  trunk  and  he 
would  go  to  her.  I  was  near  enough  to  see  her 
pretty  gray  head  and  black  eyes  coming  up  out  of 
the  crack  in  the  oak.  Sometimes  when  he  had 
fed  her  he  would  call  out  and  she  would  answer 
as  if  saying  good-by  from  down  in  the  nest.  One 
morning  I  found  the  devoted  little  mate  bringing 
her  breakfast  to  her  at  half  past  six. 

Nearly  a  month  later  they  were  feeding  their 
young.  The  winsome  mother  bird,  who  had  looked 
so  tired  and  nest-worn  the  last  time  I  saw  her, 
was  now  as  plump  and  happy  as  her  spouse.  When 
I  thought  the  pair  were  away,  I  went  to  try  to 
get  sight  of  the  nestlings  down  the  hole.  The 
old  birds  appeared  as  soon  as  I  set  foot  by  the 
oak  and  took  upon  themselves  to  scold  me.  They 
chattered  softly  in  a  way  they  had  never  done 
before.  They  quickly  got  used  to  me  again,  how- 


HOW   I    HELPED    BUILD   A    NEST.      183 

ever,  and  fed  the  little  ones  without  hesitation 
right  before  me,  knowing  full  well  that  a  person 
who  had  helped  them  build  their  nest  would  never 
harm  their  little  brood ;  and  it  was  a  disappoint- 
ment when  I  had  to  go  away  and  leave  the 
winning  family. 


XVI. 
IN  OUR  NEIGHBOR'S  DOOR-YARD. 

THE  little  German  girl  with  the  scarlet  pina- 
fore was  a  near  neighbor,  living  at  the  head 
of  the  valley  in  a  cottage  surrounded  by  great 
live  -  oaks.  These  trees  were  alive  with  birds. 
Bush-tits  flew  back  and  forth,  busily  hanging 
their  gray  pockets  among  the  leafy  folcls  of 
the  drooping  branches ;  blue  jays  flew  through, 
squawking  on  their  way  to  the  brush ;  gold- 
finches, building  in  the  orchard,  lisped  sweetly  as 
they  rested  in  the  oaks ;  and  a  handsome  oriole 
who  was  building  in  the  grove  flew  overhead  so 
slowly  he  seemed  to  be  retarded  by  the  fullness 
of  his  own  sweet  song.  But  I  had  become  so 
fond  of  the  gentle  gray  titmouse  whose  nest  I 
had  helped  to  build,  that  of  all  the  bird  songs  in 
the  trees,  its  cheery  tu-whit',  tu-whit',  tu-whit'  was 
most  enticing  to  me.  How  delightful  it  would  be 
to  watch  another  pair  of  the  winning  workers ! 
I  did  see  one  of  the  birds  enter  a  hollow  branch, 
one  day,  and  not  long  after  saw  it  go  down  a 
hole  in  an  oak  trunk ;  but  never  saw  it  after- 
wards in  either  place.  Back  and  forth  I  followed 
that  elusive  voice,  hoping  to  discover  the  nest, 


IN    OUR    NEIGHBOR'S    DOOR-YARD.     185 

but  I  suspect  the  bird  was  only  prospecting,  and 
had  not  even  begun  to  work. 

The  little  German  Gretehen  became  interested 
in  the  search  for  the  titmouse's  nest,  and  told  me 
that  a  gray  bird  had  built  in  an  oak  in  front  of 
her  house.  I  rode  right  over  to  see  it,  but  found 
the  gray  bird  a  female  Mexican  bluebird,  whose 
brilliant  ultramarine  mate  sat  on  the  fence  of  the 
vegetable  garden  in  plain  sight.  The  children 
kept  better  watch  of  the  nest  after  that,  and  a 
few  days  later,  when  in  my  attic  study,  I  heard 
the  tramp  of  a  horse,  and,  looking  out,  found  my 
little  friend  under  the  window,  come  to  tell  me 
that  the  eggs  had  hatched.  When  her  older  sis- 
ter came  for  the  washing  I  asked  her  if  she  had 
seen  the  old  birds  go  to  the  nest,  and  she  said, 
"  Yes  ;  one  was  blue  and  the  other  gray." 

When  I  rode  up  again,  the  young  had  grown 
so  that  from  the  saddle  I  could  look  down  the 
hole  and  see  their  big  mouths  and  bristling  pin- 
feathers.  The  mother  bird  was  about  the  tree, 
and  her  soft  dull  coloring  toned  in  well  with  the 
gray  bark.  The  bluebirds  had  a  double  front 
door,  and  went  in  one  side  to  come  out  the  other. 
I  saw  both  of  them  feed  the  young,  the  male  fly- 
ing into  the  hole  straight  from  the  fence  post. 

It  seemed  such  hard  work  finding  worms  out 
in  the  hot  sun  that  I  wondered  if  birds'  eyes  ever 
ached  from  the  intentness  of  their  search,  and  if 
there  were  near-sighted  birds.  Perhaps  the  in- 


186  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

tervals  of  feeding  depend  on  the  worm  supply 
rather  than  the  dietary  principles  of  the  parents. 

Gretehen's  mother  was  bending  over  her  wash- 
tubs  out  under  the  oaks,  and  I  called  her  atten- 
tion to  the  pretty  birds  brooding  in  her  door-yard, 
telling  her  that  they  were  good  friends  of  hers, 
eating  up  the  worms  that  destroyed  her  flowers 
and  vegetables.  "So?"  she  asked,  but  seemed 
ready  to  let  the  subject  drop  there,  and  hurried 
back  to  her  work.  A  poor  widow  with  a  large 
family  of  children  and  a  ranch  to  look  after  can 
find  little  time,  even  in  beautiful  California,  to 
enjoy  what  Nature  places  in  her  door-yard. 

Three  weeks  later  Gretchen  came  riding  down 
to  tell  me  that  there  were  eggs  in  the  tree  again. 
The  bluebird  bid  fair  to  be  as  hardworked  as  the 
widow,  at  that  rate,  I  thought,  when  I  went  up  to 
look  at  them.  The  children  showed  me  the  nest 
of  a  goldfinch,  near  the  ground,  in  one  of  the 
little  orange-trees  in  front  of  the  house.  They 
also  pointed  out  linnets'  nests  in  the  vines  by  the 
door,  and  the  oldest  child  said  eagerly,  "  When 
we  came  home  from  school  there  was  a  humming- 
bird in  the  window,  and  we  caught  it,"  adding,  "  I 
think  it  must  have  been  a  father  humming-bird." 
"  Why  ?  "  I  asked,  "  was  it  pretty  ?  "  "  Yes,  it 
just  shined,"  she  exclaimed  enthusiastically. 

When  the  family  were  at  home,  their  puppy 
would  bark  at  us  furiously,  and  follow  us  about 
suspiciously,  but  when  he  had  been  left  on  the 


IN    OUR    NEIGHBOR'S    DOOR-YARD.      187 

ranch  alone  he  was  glad  of  our  society.  Then 
when  I  watched  the  bluebirds,  he  came  and  curled 
down  by  my  side,  becoming  so  friendly  that  he 
actually  grew  jealous  of  Billy,  and  turned  to  have 
me  caress  him  each  time  that  the  little  horse 
walked  up  to  have  the  flies  brushed  off  his  nose, 
or  having  pulled  up  a  bunch  of  grass  by  the  roots, 
brought  it  for  me  to  hold  so  that  he  could  eat  it 
without  getting  the  dirt  in  his  mouth.  < 

Going  home  one  day,  Billy  came  upon  a  gopher 
snake.  Now  Canello  had  been  brought  up  in  a 
rattlesnake  country,  and  was  always  on  his  guard, 
but  Billy  was  '  raised '  in  the  mountains,  where 
snakes  are  scarce,  and  did  not  seem  to  know  what 
they  were.  He  had  given  me  a  good  deal  of  anx- 
iety by  this  indifference  —  he  had  stepped  over  a 
big  one  once  without  seeing  any  need  for  haste 
—  and  I  had  been  expecting  that  he  would  get 
bitten.  Here,  then,  was  my  chance  to  give  him  a 
scare.  The  gopher  snake  was  harmless ;  perhaps, 
if  I  could  get  him  so  close  to  it  that  he  would  see 
it  wriggle  away  from  under  his  feet,  he  might  be 
less  indifferent  to  rattlers. 

The  gopher  snake  was  three  or  four  feet  long, 
and  lay  as  straight  as  a  stick  across  our  path. 
As  I  urged  Billy  up  beside  it,  he  actually  stepped 
on  the  tip  of  its  tail.  The  poor  snake  writhed  a 
little,  but  gave  no  other  sign  of  pain  ;  its  role  was 
to  remain  a  stick.  And  Billy  certainly  acted  as 
if  it  were.  I  threw  the  reins  on  his  neck,  think- 


188  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

ing  that  if  he  put  his  head  down  to  graze  he 
might  make  a  discovery.  Then  a  horrid  thought 
came  to  me.  The  people  said  the  rattlers  some- 
times lost  their  rattles.  In  a  general  way,  rat- 
tlers and  gopher  snakes  look  alike ;  what  if  this 
were  a  rattlesnake,  and  at  my  bidding  my  little 
horse  should  be  struck !  But  no.  There  was 
no  mistaking  the  long  tapering  body  of  the  go- 
pher, and  it  lacked  the  wide  flat  head  of  the 
rattler.  But  I  might  have  spared  myself  my 
fears.  Billy  would  not  even  put  his  head  down, 
and  when  I  tried  to  force  him  upon  the  snake  he 
quietly  turned  aside.  To  make  the  snake  move, 
I  threw  a  stick  at  it,  but  it  was  as  obstinate  as 
Billy  himself.  Then  I  slipped  to  the  ground,  and 
picking  up  a  long  pole  gave  it  a  gingerly  little 
poke.  Still  motionless !  I  tried  another  plan, 
taking  Billy  away  a  few  yards.  Then  at  last 
the  snake  slowly  pulled  itself  along.  But  the 
moment  we  came  back  it  turned  into  a  stick 
again,  and  Billy  relapsed  into  indifference.  It 
was  no  use.  I  could  do  nothing  with  either  of 
them.  I  would  see  the  snake  go  off,  anyway,  I 
thought,  so  withdrew  and  waited  till  it  felt  re- 
assured, when  it  started.  Its  silken  skin  shone 
as  it  wormed  silently  through  the  grass  and  dis- 
appeared down  a  hole  without  a  sound,  and  I 
reflected  that  it  might  also  come  up  without  a 
sound,  very  likely  beside  me  as  I  sat  on  the  dead 
leaves ! 


XVII. 

•    / 
WHICH   WAS    THE    MOTHER    BIRD? 

THE  second  time  I  went  to  California  the  little 
whitewashed  adobe  opposite  my  ranch  was  still 
standing,  but  an  acacia-tree  had  grown  over  the 
well  where  the  black  phoebe  had  nested,  and  the 
shaft  was  so  overrun  with  bushes  and  vines  that 
it  was  hard  to  find  a  trace  of  it.  Drawn  by 
pleasant  memories,  I  rode  in  one  morning,  sure 
of  finding  something  interesting  about  the  old 
place. 

I  had  not  waited  long  before  the  chip  of  a 
young  bird  came  from  the  vines  over  the  well. 
It  proved  a  callow  nestling,  with  no  tail,  and  little 
to  mark  its  parentage.  Presently  a  brown  long- 
tailed  wren-tit  came  with  food  in  its  bill  and 
peered  "down  through  the  leaves  at  it;  and  then 
a  California  towhee  came  and  sat  around  till  sat- 
isfied as  to  whose  child  was  crying.  A  moment 
later  a  lazuli  bunting  flew  over  with  food  in  her 


190  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

bill,  and  I  at  once  bethought  me  of  the  lazuli-like 
markings,  the  brownish  wing  -  bars  and  the 
sharp  cry  of  "  quit,"  which  none  but  a  lazuli  could 
give.  That  surely  was  my  bird. 

But  if  so,  what  did  this  interest  on  the  part  of 
the  wren-tit  mean?  She  hopped  about  the  nest- 
ling with  tail  up  and  crest  raised,  chattering  to  it 
in  low  mysterious  tones ;  and  when  I  suspected 
her  of  giving  her  worm  to  it,  suddenly  turned 
her  head  and  looked  away  with  a  suspiciously 
non-commital  air.  The  lazuli,  however,  sat  in- 
differently on  a  branch  and  plumed  her  feathers, 
though  when  she  did  fly  down  toward  the  young 
one,  the  wren-tit  gave  way.  But  even  then  the 
lazuli  did  not  feed  the  small  bird.  When  she 
had  gone,  the  wren-tit  came  back.  She  spoke  low 
to  the  nestling,  and  drew  it  down  into  the  thick 
part  of  the  tangle  where  I  could  not  see  them, 
though  there  was  a  hint  of  tiny  quivering  wings, 
and  I  was  morally  certain  that  the  old  bird  was 
feeding  it,  especially  when  she  flew  up  in  sight 
with  the  smart  air  of  having  outwitted  me. 

I  was  getting  more  and  more  bewildered. 
What  did  it  all  mean  ?  Were  there  two  families 
of  young  down  in  the  tangle  ?  If  not,  why  were 
two  old  birds  feeding  one  little  one,  and  to  which 
mother  did  the  child  belong?  The  wisdom  of 
Solomon  was  needed  to  solve  the  riddle. 

The  wren-tit  simply  devoted  herself  to  the  little 
bird,  going  and  coming  for  it  constantly ;  while 


WHICH   WAS   THE  MOTHER  BIRD?     191 

the  lazuli,  ordinarily  the  most  nervous  noisy  bird 
when  her  young  are  disturbed,  sat  around  silently, 
or  flew  away  without  remark.  I  became  so  im- 
pressed by  the  wren-tit  side  of  the  case  that  I 
quite  forgot  the  lazuli  note  and  markings. 

Just  as  I  thought  I  had  come  to  a  decision  in 
the  case,  a  male  lazuli  flew  in,  lighting  atilt  of 
an  acacia  stalk  opposite  the  wren-tit.  But  when 
he  saw  me  he  craned  his  neck  and  flew  off  in  a 
hurry  —  no  father,  surely,  scared  away  at  the  first 
glimpse  of  me  !  However,  I  was  not  clear  in  my 
mind,  and  sat  down  to  puzzle  the  matter  out. 

At  this  juncture  Madame  Lazuli  came  with 
food ;  the  young  bird  turned  toward  her  for  it, 
and  behold !  she  took  to  her  wings  with  all  she 
had  brought.  I  had  hardly  time  to  congratulate 
myself  on  this  new  piece  of  testimony,  when  back 
came  the  lazuli  with  her  bill  full ! 

In  my  perplexity  I  moved  so  near  the  little  one 
that,  without  meaning  to,  I  forced  the  old  birds 
to  show  their  true  colors.  The  situation  was  too 
dangerous  to  admit  of  further  subterfuge.  Both 
Madame  Lazuli  and  her  handsome  blue  mate  — 
whom  I  discovered  at  a  safe  distance  up  on  a  high 
branch  out  of  reach  —  flew  down  and  dashed 
about,  twitching  their  tails  from  side  to  side  as 
they  cried  "  quit,"  in  nervous  tones ;  altogether 
acting  so  much  like  anxious  parents  that  I  had  to 
relinquish  my  theory  that  the  little  bird  belonged 
to  the  wren-tit.  Like  the  mother  whom  Solomon 


192  A-BIRDING    ON    A    BRONCO. 

judged,  she  forgot  all  else  when  real  danger 
threatened  the  child.  Having  come  to  my  deci- 
sion from  circumstantial  evidence,  I  remembered 
with  a  start  that  I  had  known  it  all  the  time, 
from  the  wing-bars  and  the  call  note !  Never- 
theless, my  riddle  was  only  half  solved,  for  how 
about  the  wren-tit  ? 

A  young  bird  called  from  the  sycamore  at  the 
corner  of  the  adobe,  and  when  both  old  birds  flew 
over  to  it,  I  thought  I  'd  better  follow.  I  got 
there  just  in  time  to  see  a  little  bird  light  in  the 
elbow  of  a  limb,  totter  as  if  going  to  fall,  and  save 
itself  by  snuggling  up  in  the  elbow,  where  it  sat 
in  the  sun  looking  very  cozy  and  comfortable  — 
winning  little  tot.  The  mother  lazuli  started  to 
come  to  it,  but  seeing  me  flew  away  to  another 
branch,  where,  well  screened,  she  stretched  up  on 
her  toes  to  look  at  me  over  the  top  of  a  big  syca- 
more leaf.  Though  the  fledgling  called,  the 
mother  left  without  going  to  it. 

The  wren-tit  had  stayed  behind  at  the  well ;  but 
while  the  lazuli  was  gone,  who  should  come  flying 
in  but  the  foster  mother!  I  was  astonished. 
Moreover,  the  instant  the  youngster  set  eyes  on 
her,  it  started  up  and  flew  to  her  —  actually  flew 
into  her  in  its  hurry.  She  admonished  it  gently, 
in  a  soft  chattering  voice,  for  she  could  not  scold  it. 

When  the  lazuli  came  back  with  food,  it  was 
only  to  see  her  little  bird  flying  off  to  the  other 
side  of  the  tree  after  the  wren-tit !  I  thought  she 


WHICH   WAS   THE  MOTHER  BIRD?     193 

seemed  bewildered,  but  she  followed  in  their  wake 
—  we  all  followed.  Here  came  a  closer  test. 
Both  lazuli  and  wren-tit  stood  before  the  small 
bird.  Which  would  it  go  to  ?  The  lazuli  kept 
silent,  but  the  wren-tit  called  softly  and  the  little 
one  raised  its  wings  and  flew  toward  her,  leaving 
its  mother  behind. 

I  watched  and  waited,  but  the  wren-tit  did  not 
give  over  her  kind  offices,  and  the  last  I  saw  of 
the  birds,  on  riding  away,  the  three  were  flying 
in  procession  across  the  brush,  the  lazuli  following 
its  mother  and  the  wren-tit  bringing  up  the  rear. 

I  went  home  very  much  puzzled.  Was  the 
wren-tit  a  lonely  mother  bird  who  had  lost  her 
own  little  ones,  or  was  she  merely  an  old  maid 
with  a  warm  spot  in  her  heart  for  other  peoples' 
little  folks  ? 


XVIII. 

A   RARE    BIRD. 

WE  may  say  that  we  care  naught  for  the  world 
and  its  ways,  but  most  of  us  are  more  or  less 
tricked  by  the  high-sounding  titles  of  the  mighty. 
Even  plain-thinking  observers  come  under  the 
same  curse  of  Adam,  and,  like  the  snobs  who  turn 
scornfully  from  Mr.  Jones  to  hang  upon  the  words 
of  Lord  Higginbottom,  will  pass  by  a  plain  brown 
chippie  to  study  with  enthusiasm  the  ways  of  a 
pJiainopepla !  Sometimes,  however,  in  ornithol- 
ogy as  in  the  world,  a  name  does  cover  more 
than  its  letters,  and  we  are  duped  into  making 
some  interesting  discoveries  as  well  as  learning 
some  of  the  important  lessons  in  life.  In  the  case 
of  the  phainopepla,  no  hopes  that  could  be  raised 
by  his  cognomen  would  equal  the  rare  pleasure 
afforded  by  a  study  of  his  unusual  ways. 

On  my  first  visit  to  Twin  Oaks  I  caught  but 
brief  glimpses  of  this  distinguished  bird.  Some- 
times for  a  moment  he  lit  on  a  bare  limb  and 
I  had  a  chance  to  admire  his  high  black  crest 
and  glossy  blue-black  coat,  which  with  one  more 
touch  of  color  would  become  iridescent.  He  was 
so  slenderly  formed,  and  his  shining  coat  was  so 


THE    PHAINOPEPLAS   ON    THE    PEPPER-TREE 


A    RARE    BIRD.  195 

smooth  and  trim,  he  made  me  think  of  a  bird  of 
glass  perched  on  a  tree.  But  while  I  gazed  at 
him  he  would  launch  into  the  air  and  wing  his 
way  high  over  the  valley  to  the  hillsides  beyond, 
leaving  me  to  marvel  at  the  white  disks  on  his 
wings,  hidden  when  perching,  but  in  air  making 
him  suggest  a  black  ship  with  white  sails. 

His  appearance  was  so  elegant  and  his  ways  so 
unusual  that  I  went  back  East  regretting  I  had 
not  given  more  time  to  a  bird  who  was  so  indi- 
vidual, and  resolved  that  if  I  ever  returned  to 
California  my  first  pleasure  should  be  to  study 
him.  When  the  time  finally  came,  an  ornithol- 
ogist friend  who  knew  my  plans  wrote,,  exclaim- 
ing, "  Do  study  the  phainopeplas !  "  and  added 
that  she  felt  like  making  a  journey  to  California 
to  see  that  one  bird. 

From  the  middle  of  March  till  the  middle  of 
May  I  watched  and  waited  for  the  phainopeplas. 
There  had  been  only  a  few  of  the  birds  before, 
and  I  began  to  fear  they  had  left  the  valley. 
When  despairing  of  them,  suddenly  one  day  I 
saw  a  black  speck  cross  over  to  the  hills.  I 
wanted  to  drop  my  work  and  follow,  but  went  on 
with  my  rounds,  and  one  bright  morning  on  my 
way  home  after  a  discouraging  hunt  for  nests,  a 
pair  of  phainopeplas  flew  up  right  before  my  eyes 
almost  within  sight  of  the  house.  I  dropped  down 
behind  a  bush,  and  in  a  moment  more  the  birds 
flew  to  a  little  oak  by  the  road  —  a  tree  I  had 


196  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

been  sitting-  under  that  very  morning!  The 
female  seated  herself  on  top  of  the  oak,  watching 
me  with  raised  crest,  while  her  mate  disappeared 
in  a  dark  mat  of  leaves,  probably  mistletoe,  where 
he  stayed  so  long  that  the  possibility  of  a  nest 
waxed  to  a  probability,  and  I  made  a  rapid  but 
ecstatic  ascent  to  the  observer's  seventh  heaven.  A 
phainopepla's  nest  right  on  my  own  doorsill !  I 
could  hardly  restrain  my  impatience,  and  was 
tempted  to  shoo  the  birds  away  so  I  could  go  to 
the  nest ;  when  suddenly  they  opened  their  wings 
and,  crossing  the  valley,  disappeared  up  a  side 
canyon !  Pulling  myself  together  and  reflecting 
that  I  might  have  known  better  than  to  imagine 
there  would  be  a  nest  so  near  home,  I  took  up  my 
camp-stool  and  trudged  back  to  the  house. 

After  that  came  a  number  of  tantalizing  hints. 
When  watching  the  third  gnatcatcher's  nest  I 
had  seen  a  pair  of  phainopeplas  flying  sugges- 
tively back  and  forth  from  the  brush  to  the  vari- 
ous oaks,  and  thought  the  handsome  lover  fed 
his  mate  as  his  relative  the  gentle  high-bred  wax- 
wing  does.  Surely  the  wooing  of  these  beautiful 
birds  should  be  carried  on  with  no  less  fine  feel- 
ing, courtesy,  and  tenderness ;  and  so  it  seems  to 
be.  The  black  knight  flew  low  over  my  head 
slowly,  as  if  inspecting  me,  and  then  came  again 
with  his  lady,  as  if  having  said,  "Dear  one,  I 
would  consult  you  upon  this  impending  danger." 

After  that,   something  really  delightful  came 


A    RARE    BIRD.  197 

about.  Day  by  day,  on  riding  back  to  our  ranch- 
house,  I  found  phainopeplas  there  eating  the  ber- 
ries of  the  pepper-trees  in  our  front  yard.  Before 
long  the  birds  began  coming  early  in  the  morn- 
ing ;  their  voices  were  the  first  sounds  we  heard 
on  awakening  and  almost  the  last  at  night,  and 
soon  we  realized  the  delightful  fact  that  our  trees 
had  become  the  feeding  ground  for  all  the  phaino- 
peplas of  the  valley.  Altogether  there  were  five 
or  six  pairs.  It  was  a  pretty  sight  to  see  the 
black  satiny  birds  perched  on  one  of  the  delicate 
sprays  of  the  willowy  pepper-trees,  hanging  over 
the  grape-like  clusters,  to  pluck  the  small  pink 
berries.  The  birds  soon  grew  very  friendly,  and, 
though  they  gave  a  cry  of  warning  when  the  cats 
appeared,  became  so  tame  they  would  answer 
my  calls  and  let  me  watch  them  from  the  piazza 
steps,  not  a  rod  away. 

When  they  first  began  to  linger  about  the  house 
we  thought  they  were  building  near,  and  when 
one  flew  into  an  oak  across  the  road,  almost  gave 
me  palpitation  of  the  heart  by  the  suggestion. 
But  no  nest  was  there,  and  when  the  bird  flew 
away  it  rose  obliquely  into  the  air  perhaps  a 
hundred  feet,  and  then  flew  on  evenly  straight 
across  to  the  small  oaks  on  the  farther  side  of  a 
patch  of  brush  that  remained  in  the  centre  of  the 
valley,  known  to  the  ranchmen  as  the  '  Island.' 
The  flight  looked  so  premeditated  that  the  first 
thing  the  next  morning,  although  the  phaino- 


198  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

peplas  were  at  the  peppers,  I  rode  on  ahead  to 
wait  for  them  at  their  nest.  We  had  not  been 
there  long  before  hearing  the  familiar  warning 
call.  Turning  Billy  in  the  direction  of  the  sound, 
I  threw  his  reins  on  his  neck  to  induce  him  to 
graze  along  the  way  and  give  our  presence  a  more 
casual  air,  while  I  looked  up  indifferently  as  if  to 
survey  the  landscape.  To  my  delight  the  phaino- 
pepla  did  not  seem  greatly  alarmed,  and,  throw- 
ing off  the  assumed  indifference  that  always 
makes  an  observer  feel  like  a  wretched  hypocrite, 
I  called  and  whistled  to  him  as  I  had  done  at  the 
house,  to  let  him  know  that  it  was  a  familiar 
friend  and  he  had  nothing  to  fear.  The  beautiful 
bird  started  toward  me,  but  on  second  thought 
retreated.  I  turned  my  back,  but,  to  my  chagrin, 
after  giving  a  few  low  warning  calls,  my  bird 
vanished.  Alas,  for  the  generations  of  murderers 
that  have  made  birds  distrust  their  best  friends 
—  that  make  honest  observers  tremble  for  what 
may  befall  the  birds  if  they  put  trust  in  but  one 
of  the  human  species ! 

It  was  plain  that  if  I  would  get  a  study  of 
these  rare  birds  I  must  make  a  business  of  it. 
Slipping  from  the  saddle,  I  sat  down  behind  a 
bush  and  waited.  When  the  bird  came  back  and 
found  the  place  apparently  deserted,  to  my  relief 
he  seated  himself  on  a  twig  and  sang  away  as  if 
nothing  had  disturbed  his  serenity  of  spirit.  But 
presently  the  warning  call  sounded  again.  This 


A    RARE    BIRD.  199 

time  it  was  for  a  schoolgirl  who  had  staked  out 
her  horse  on  the  edge  of  the  island  and  was  cross- 
ing over  to  the  schoolhouse.  A  few  moments 
]ater  the  bell  rang  out  so  loudly  that  Billy  stepped 
around  his  oak  with  animation,  but  the  phaino- 
peplas  were  used  to  it  and  showed  no  uneasi- 
ness. 

Before  Jong  a  flash  of  white  announced  a  second 
bird,  and  then,  after  a  long  interval  in  which 
nothing  happened,  the  male  pitched  into  a  bush 
with  beak  bristling  with  building  material !  My 
delight  knew  no  bounds.  Instead  of  nesting  in 
the  top  of  an  oak  in  a  remote  canyon,  as  I  had 
been  assured  the  shy  birds  would  do,  here  they 
were  building  in  a  low  oak  not  more  than  an 
eighth  of  a  mile  from  the  house,  and  in  plain 
sight.  Moreover,  they  were  birds  who  knew  me 
at  home,  and  so  would  really  be  much  less  afraid 
than  strangers,  whatever  airs  they  assumed.  In 
the  photograph,  the  bare  twigs  of  the  perch  tree 
show  above  the  line  of  the  horizon ;  the  nest  tree 
is  the  low  oak  beside  it  on  the  right.  One  thing 
puzzled  me  from  the  outset.  While  the  male 
worked  on  the  nest,  the  female  sat  on  the  outside 
circle  of  brush  as  if  having  nothing  to  do,  in  spite 
of  the  fact  that  her  gray  dress  toned  in  so  well 
with  the  brush  that  she  was  quite  inconspicuous, 
while  his  shining  black  coat  made  him  a  clear 
mark  from  a  distance.  What  did  it  mean?  I 
invented  all  sorts  of  fancies  to  account  for  it. 


200  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

Had  she  been  to  the  pepper-trees  so  much  less 
than  he  that  she  was  over-troubled  by  my  pres- 
ence, and  therefore  the  gallant  black  knight  who 
sang  to  her  so  sweetly  and  was  so  tender  of  her, 
seeing  her  fears,  took  the  work  upon  himself  ? 
Perchance  he  had  said,  "  If  you  are  timid,  my 
love,  I  will  build  for  you  while  she  is  by,  for  I 
would  not  have  you  come  near  if  it  would  dis- 
quiet you." 

In  any  event,  he  built  away  quite  unconcern- 
edly not  three  rods  from  where  I  sat  on  the 
ground  staring  at  him.  He  would  fly  to  the 
earth  for  material,  but  return  to  the  nest  from 
above,  pitching  down  to  it  as  if  having  nothing 
to  hide.  Once,  when  resting,  he  perched  on  the 
tree,  and  I  talked  to  him  quite  freely.  That  noon 
the  phainopeplas  were  at  the  house  before  me, 
and  I  went  out  to  talk  to  them  while  they  lunched 
to  let  them  know  it  was  only  I  who  had  visited 
their  nest,  so  they  would  have  new  confidence  on 
the  morrow. 

But  on  the  morrow  they  flew  to  another  part 
of  the  island,  and  when  we  followed,  although  I 
hitched  Billy  farther  away  from  the  nest  tree  and 
sat  quietly  behind  a  brush  screen,  they  did  not 
come  back.  A  brown  chippie  plumed  his  feathers 
unrebuked  in  their  oak,  making  the  place  seem 
more  deserted  than  before.  A  lizard  ran  out 
from  the  grape  cuttings  at  my  feet,  and  a  little 
black  and  white  mephitis  cantered  along  over 


A    RARE    BIRD.  201 

the  ground  with  his  back  arched  and  his  head 
down.  He  nosed  around  under  the  bushes,  show- 
ing the  white  V  on  his  back,  exactly  like  that  of 
our  eastern  species.  As  I  rode  home,  five  turkey 
buzzards  were  flying  low  over  the  edge  of  the 
island,  and  one  vulture  rose  from  a  meal  of  one 
of  the  little  black  and  white  animal's  relatives, 
but  I  saw  nothing  more  of  my  birds  that  day. 

The  next  day  the  phainopeplas  came  again 
to  the  pepper-trees  and  ate  their  fill  while  I  sat 
on  the  steps  watching.  The  male  was  quite  un- 
concerned, but  when  his  mate  flew  near  me,  he 
called  out  sharply ;  he  could  risk  his  own  life,  but 
not  that  of  his  love.  Again  the  pair  flew  back  to 
the  high  oaks  on  the  far  side  of  the  island.  All 
my  hopes  of  the  first  low  inaccessible  nest  van- 
ished. I  had  driven  the  birds  away.  My  intru- 
siveness  had  made  me  lose  the  best  chance  of  the 
whole  nesting  season.  But  I  would  try  to  follow 
them.  It  did  not  seem  necessary  to  take  Billy. 
There  were  only  a  few  trees  on  that  side  of  the 
island,  and  it  would  be  a  simple  matter  to  locate 
the  birds.  I  would  walk  over,  find  in  which  tree 
they  were  building,  and  spend  the  morning  with 
them.  I  went.  Each  oak  was  encircled  by  a 
thick  wall  of  brush,  over  which  it  was  almost  im- 
possible to  see  more  than  a  fraction  of  the  tree, 
and  the  high  oak  tops  were  impenetrable  to  eye 
and  glass.  After  chasing  phantoms  all  the  after- 
noon I  went  home  with  renewed  respect  for  Billy 


202  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

as  an  adjunct  to  field  work.  In  order  to  locate 
anything  in  chaparral,  one  must  be  high  enough 
to  overlook  the  mass. 

That  afternoon  I  saw  a  pair  of  phainopeplas 
fly  up  a  canyon  on  the  east,  and  another  pair 
fly  up  another  on  the  west.  If  I  were  to  know 
anything  of  these  birds,  I  must  not  be  balked 
by  faulty  observing;  I  must  at  least  do  intelli- 
gent work.  Riding  in  from  the  back  and  tying 
Billy  out  of  sight  away  from  the  old  nest,  I 
swung  myself  up  into  a  crotch  of  a  low  oak  from 
which  I  could  overlook  the  whole  island.  The 
phainopeplas  soon  flew  in,  but  to  the  opposite 
side,  and  I  was  condemning  myself  for  having 
driven  them  away  when>  to  my  amazement,  the 
male  flew  over  and  shot  down  into  the  little  oak 
where  he  had  been  building  before  !  My  self- 
reproach  took  a  different  form  —  I  had  not  been 
patient  enough.  Surely  if  I  could  wait  an  hour 
for  an  ordinary  hummingbird,  I  could  wait  a 
morning  for  an  absent  phainopepla. 

From  the  nest  the  beautiful  bird  flew  to  the 
bare  oak  top  behind  it  which  he  used  for  a 
perch,  and  —  alas  !  gave  his  warning  call.  I  was 
discovered.  He  dashed  his  tail,  turned  his  head 
to  look  at  me  first  from  one  side  and  then  from 
the  other,  and  then  flew  to  the  top  of  the  highest 
tree  in  sight  to  verify  his  observations.  Whether 
he  recognized  the  object  as  his  pepper-tree  ac- 
quaintance, I  do  not  know ;  but  to  my  great 


A    RARE    BIRD.  203 

relief  he  went  back  to  his  work.  By  this  time 
the  little  tree  which  had  seemed  such  a  comfort- 
able chair  had  undergone  a  change  —  I  felt  as 
if  stretched  upon  the  gridiron  of  St.  Anthony. 
Climbing  clown  stiffly,  I  kneeled  behind  the 
brush  and  practiced  focusing  my  glass  on  the 
nest  so  that  it  would  not  catch  the  light  and 
frighten  the  bird*  when  out  he  flew  from  the 
nest  and  sat  down  facing  me  in  broad  daylight ! 
He  did  not  say  a  word,  but  looked  around  ab- 
stractedly, as  if  hunting  for  material. 

If  he  were  so  indifferent,  perhaps  it  would  be 
safe  to  creep  nearer.  Following  the  paths  trod- 
den by  the  bare  feet  of  the  school  children,  and 
spying  and  skulking,  I  crept  into  a  good  hiding- 
place  about  a  rod  from  the  nest.  The  ground 
was  covered  with  dead  leaves,  and  I  saw  a  sug- 
gestive round  hole  —  a  very  large  rattlesnake 
had  been  killed  a  few  rods  away  the  week  before. 
I  covered  the  hole  with  my  cloak  and  then  sat 
down  on  the  lid  —  nothing  could  come  up  while 
I  was  there,  at  all  events. 

The  phainopepla  worked  busily  for  some  time, 
flying  rapidly  back  and  forth  with  material. 
Then  came  the  warning  cry.  I  drew  in  my  note- 
book from  the  sun  so  that  it  should  not  catch 
his  eye,  and  waited.  The  hot  air  grew  hotter, 
beating  down  on  my  head.  A  big  lizard  wrig- 
gled over  the  leaves,  and  I  thought  of  my  rattle- 
snake. Then  Billy  sneezed  in  a  forced  way,  as 


204  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

though  to  remind  me  not  to  go  off  without  him. 
Growing  restless,  I  moved  the  bushes  a  little  — 
they  were  so  stiff  they  made  a  very  good  chair- 
back  if  one  got  into  the  right  position  —  when 
suddenly,  looking  up  I  saw  my  phainopepla 
friend  vault  into  the  air  from  a  bush  behind  me, 
where,  apparently,  he  had  been  sitting  taking 
notes  of  his  own !  What  observers  birds  are,  to 
be  sure !  The  best  of  us  have  much  to  learn 
from  them. 

But  though  the  phainopepla  was  most  watchful, 
he  was  open  to  conviction,  and  he  and  his  mate 
at  last  concluded  that  I  meant  them  no  harm. 
Afterwards,  when  I  moved,  they  both  came  and 
looked  at  me,  but  went  about  their  business 
quite  unmindful  of  me. 

As  I  had  seen  from  the  outset,  the  male  did 
almost  all  the  building.  When  his  spouse  came 
in  sight  he  burst  out  into  a  tender  joyous  love 
song.  She  went  to  the  nest  now  and  again,  but 
generally  when  she  came  it  was  to  sun  herself 
on  the  bare  perch  tree,  where  she  dressed  her 
plumes  or  merely  sat  with  crest  raised  and  her 
soft  gray  feathers  fluffed  about  her  feet,  while 
waiting  for  her  mate  to  get  leisure  to  take  a  run 
with  her. 

When  he  had  finished  his  stint  and  she  was 
not  about,  he  would  take  his  turn  on  the  perch 
tree,  his  handsome  glossy  black  coat  shining  in 
the  sun.  If  an  unwitting  neighbor  lit  on  his  tree 


A    RARE    BIRD.  205 

he  would  flatten  his  crest  and  dash  down  indig- 
nantly, but  for  the  most  part  he  perched  quietly 
except  to  make  short  sallies  into  the  air  for  in- 
sects, sometimes  singing  as  he  went ;  or  he  just 
warbled  to  himself  contentedly,  what  sounded 
like  the  chattering  run  of  a  swallow  on  the  wing. 
One  day  we  had  quite  a  conversation.  His 
simplest  call  note  was  like  the  call  of  a  young 
robin,  and  while  I  answered  him  he  gave  his 
note  seventeen  times  in  one  minute,  and  eleven 
times  in  the  next  half  minute. 

The  birds  had  a  great  variety  of  calls  and 
songs,  most  of  which  were  vivacious  and  cheering 
and  seemed  attuned  to  the  warmth  and  bright- 
ness of  the  California  sunshine.  The  quality 
of  the  love  song  was  rich  and  flute-like. 

The  male  phainopepla  seemed  to  enjoy  life 
in  general  and  his  work  in  particular.  He  fre- 
quently sang  to  himself  when  going  for  material ; 
and  once,  apparently,  when  on  the  nest.  When 
he  was  building  I  could  see  his  black  head  move 
about  between  the  leaves.  Like  the  gnatcatchers, 
he  used  only  fine  bits  of  material,  but  he  did 
not  drill  them  in  as  they  did.  He  merely  laid 
them  in,  or  at  most  wove  them  in  gently.  Now 
and  then,  as  the  black  head  moved  in  front,  the 
black  tail  would  tilt  up  behind  at  the  back  of 
the  nest  as  if  the  bird  were  moulding ;  but  there 
vwas  comparatively  little  of  that.  When  com- 
pleted, the  nest  was  a  soft  felty  structure. 


206  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

When  working,  the  male  would  fly  back  and 
forth  from  the  ground  to  the  nest,  carrying  his 
bits  of  plant  stem,  oak  blossom,  and  other  fine 
stuff.  He  worked  so  rapidly  that  it  kept  me 
busy  recording  his  visits.  He  once  went  to  the 
nest  four  times  in  four  minutes ;  at  another  time, 
seventeen  times  in  a  little  over  an  hour.  Some- 
times he  stayed  only  half  a  minute ;  when  he 
stayed  three  minutes,  it  was  so  unusual  that  I 
recorded  it.  He  worked  spasmodically,  how- 
ever. "One  day  he  came  seventeen  times  in  one 
hour,  but  during  the  next  half  hour  came  only 
five  times.  The  birds  seemed  to  divide  their 
mornings  into  quite  regular  periods.  When  I 
awoke  at  half  past  five  I  would  hear  them  at 
the  pepper-trees  breakfasting ;  and  some  of  them 
were  generally  there  as  late  as  eight  o'clock. 
From  eight  to  ten  they  worked  with  a  will, 
though  the  visits  usually  fell  off  after  half  past 
nine.  It  was  when  working  in  this  more  delib- 
erate way  that  the  male  would  go  to  his  perch 
on  an  adjoining  tree  and  preen  himself,  catch 
flies,  or  sing  between  his  visits.  Once  he  sat  on 
the  limb  in  front  of  the  nest  for  nearly  ten 
minutes.  By  ten  o'clock  I  found  that  I  might 
as  well  go  to  watch  other  birds,  as  little  would 
be  going  on  with  the  phainopeplas ;  and  they 
often  flew  off  for  a  lunch  of  peppers. 

Just  as  the  island  nest  was  about  done  —  it 
was  destroyed !  I  found  it  on  the  ground  under 


A    RARE    BIRD.  207 

the  tree.  For  a  time  I  felt  as  if  no  nests  could 
come  to  anything ;  the  number  that  had  been 
destroyed  during  the  season  was  disheartening. 
It  seemed  as  though  I  no  sooner  got  interested 
in  a  little  family  than  its  home  was  broken  up. 
Sometimes  I  wondered  how  a  bird  ever  had  cour- 
age to  start  a  nest. 

But  though  it  was  hard  to  reconcile  myself  to 
the  destruction  of  the  phainopeplas'  nest,  I  found 
others  later.  Altogether,  I  saw  three  pairs  of 
birds  building,  and  in  each  case  the  male  was 
doing  most  of  the  work.  Two  of  the  nests  I 
watched  closely,  watch  and  note-book  in  hand,  in 
order  to  determine  the  exact  proportion  of  work 
done  by  each  bird.  One  nest  was  watched  two 
hours  and  a  half,  during  a  period  of  five  days,  in 
which  time  the  male  went  to  the  nest  twenty- 
seven  times,  the  female,  only  three.  The  other 
nest  was  watched  seven  hours  and  thirty-five  min- 
utes, during  a  period  of  ten  days,  in  which  time 
the  male  was  at  the  nest  fifty-seven  times ;  the 
female,  only  eight.  Taking  the  total  for  the  two 
nests :  in  ten  hours  and  five  minutes  the  male  went 
to  the  nest  eighty-four  times  ;  the  female,  eleven. 
That  is  to  say,  the  females  made  only  thirteen  per 
cent  of  the  visits.  In  reality,  although  they  went 
to  the  nest  eleven  times,  the  ratio  of  work  might 
safely  be  reduced  still  further ;  for  in  watching 
them  I  was  convinced  that,  as  a  rule,  they  came 
to  the  nest,  not  to  build,  but  to  inspect  the  build- 


208  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

* 

ing  done  by  their  mates.  Indeed,  at  one  nest,  I 
saw  nothing  to  make  me  suspect  that  the  female 
did  any  of  the  work.  Her  coming  was  usually 
welcomed  by  a  joyous  song,  but  once  the  evidence 
seemed  to  prove  that  she  was  driven  away ;  per- 
haps she  was  too  free  with  her  criticisms!  In 
another  case  the  work  was  sadly  interrupted  by 
the  presence  of  the  visitor,  for  while  she  sat  in 
the  nest  her  excited  mate  flew  back  and  forth  as 
if  he  had  quite  forgotten  the  business  in  hand. 
Perhaps  he  was  nervous,  and  wanted  to  make  sure 
what  she  was  doing  in  the  new  house ! 

In  several  instances  I  found  that  while  the 
males  were  at  work  building,  the  females  went 
off  by  themselves.  Once  I  saw  Madame  Phaino- 
pepla  bring  her  friend  home  with  her.  No  sooner 
had  the  visitor  lit  than  —  shocking  to  relate  — 
the  lord  of  the  house  left  his  work  and  drove  her 
off  with  bill  and  claw  —  a  polite  way  to  treat  his 
lady's  friends,  surely  !  On  one  occasion,  when 
I  looked  up  I  saw  a  procession  passing  overhead 
—  two  females  followed  by  a  male.  The  male 
flew  hesitatingly,  as  if  troubled  by  his  conscience, 
and  then,  deciding  that  if  the  nest  was  ever  going 
to  be  built  he  had  better  keep  at  it,  turned  around 
and  came  back  to  work.  One  day  when  I  rode 
over  to  the  chaparral  island,  I  found  two  of  the 
males  sitting  around  in  the  brush.  They  played 
tag  until  tired,  and  then  perched  on  a  branch  in 
the  sun,  side  by  side,  evidently  enjoying  them- 


A    RARE    BIRD.  209 

selves  like  light-hearted,  care-free  bachelors. 
Their  mates  were  not  in  sight.  But  suddenly 
I  glanced  up  and  saw  two  females  flying  in  to 
the  island  high  overhead,  as  if  coming  from  a 
distance.  Instantly  the  indifferent  holiday  air 
of  their  mates  vanished.  They  gave  their  low 
warning  calls,  for  I  was  on  the  ground  and  they 
must  not  show  me  their  nests.  In  answer  to  the 
warning  the  females  wavered,  and  then,  when 
their  mates  joined  them,  all  four  flew  away  to- 
gether. 

At  other  times  when  I  rode  in  the  males  would 
make  large  circles,  seventy-five  feet  above  me,  as 
if  to  get  a  clear  understanding  of  the  impending 
danger.  This  was  when  small  nest  hunters  were 
about,  and  the  birds  were  some  whose  nests  I  did 
not  find,  and  who  had  no  opportunity  to  become 
convinced  of  my  good  intentions. 

After  finding  that  the  males  did  most  of  the 
building,  I  was  anxious  to  see  how  it  would  be 
when  the  brooding  began.  Three  of  my  nests 
were  broken  up  beforehand,  however,  and  the 
fourth  was  despoiled  after  I  had  watched  the  birds 
on  the  nest  one  day.  Nevertheless,  the  evidence 
of  that  day  was  most  interesting  as  far  as  it  went. 
It  proved  that  while  the  female  lacked  the  archi- 
tect's instinct,  she  was  not  without  the  maternal 
instinct.  There  were  two  eggs  in  the  nest,  and  in 
the  one  hour  that  I  watched,  each  bird  brooded 
the  eggs  six  times.  Before  this,  the  female  had 


210  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

been  to  the  nest  so  much  less  than  the  male  that 
now  she  was  much  shyer;  but  although  Billy 
frightened  her  by  tramping  down  the  brush  near 
by,  it  was  she  who  first  overcame  her  fears  and 
went  to  cover  the  eggs. 


XIX. 

MY    BLUE    GUM    GROVE. 

ONE  of  the  first  things  I  did  on  getting  settled 
on  my  ranch,  the  second  time  I  was  in  California, 
was  to  get  a  wagon  and  go  down  to  my  euca- 
lyptus grove  for  a  load  of  the  pale  green  aro- 
matic boughs  with  which  to  trim  my  attic  study ; 
for  their  fragrance  is  delightful  and  their  delicate 
blue-green  tone  lends  itself  readily  to  decorative 
purposes.  When  the  supply  needed  replenish- 
ing, I  rode  down  on  Mountain  Billy  and  carried 
home  the  sweet-smelling  branches  on  the  saddle. 

The  grove  served  a  more  utilitarian  purpose, 
however.  The  eucalyptus  is  an  Australian  tree, 
with  narrow  straight-hanging  leaves,  and  its 
rapid  growth  makes  it  useful  for  firewood.  A 
tree  will  grow  forty  feet  in  four  years,  and  when 
cut  off  a  few  feet  above  the  ground  will  spring 
up  again  and  soon  be  ready  to  yield  another 
crop.  My  grove  had  never  been  cut,  but  would 
soon  be  old  enough.  In  the  photograph  of  a 
eucalyptus  avenue  near  Los  Angeles,  the  row 
of  trees  on  the  right  have  been  cut  near  the 
ground  and  the  branching  trunks  are  the  con- 
sequence. 


212  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

My  eucalyptus  or  blue  gum  grove  was  down 
near  the  big  sycamore,  and  opposite  the  bare 
knoll  where  Romulus  and  the  burrowing  owls 
had  their  nightly  battles.  On  one  side  of  it 
was  a  rustling  cornfield  always  pleasant  to  look 
at.  After  the  bare  yellow  stubble  and  all  the 
reds  and  browns  of  a  California  summer  land- 
scape, its  rich  dark  green  color  and  its  stanch 
strong  stalks  made  it  seem  a  very  plain  honest 
sort  of  field,  and  its  greenness  was  most  grateful 
to  eyes  unused  to  the  bright  colors  and  strong 
lights  of  California. 

Opposite  the  little  grove,  in  a  small  house 
perched  on  a  hill,  an  old  sea-captain  lived  alone. 
As  I  rode  by  one  day,  he  sat  with  his  feet  hang- 
ing over  the  edge  of  the  high  piazza,  looking 
off ;  as  if  on  the  prow  of  his  vessel,  gazing  out 
to  sea.  When  I  stopped  to  ask  if  he  had  seen 
anything  noteworthy  happen  at  the  grove,  he 
complained  that  it  shut  off  his  view  and  kept 
away  the  breeze  from  the  ocean !  I  was  too 
much  taken  by  surprise  to  apologize  for  my 
trees,  but  felt  reproached ;  unwittingly  I  had 
destroyed  the  old  captain's  choicest  pleasure. 
He  had  spoken  in  an  impersonal  way  that  I 
quite  understood,  —  he  had  been  taken  unawares, 
—  but  the  next  time  I  rode  past,  as  if  to  make 
up  for  any  apparent  rudeness,  he  came  hurrying 
down  the  walk  to  tell  me  of  a  crow's  nest  he 
had  seen  in  the  grove.  To  mark  it  he  had 


EUCALYPTUS    AVENUE,    SHOWING    POLLARDED    TREES    ON    THE 
RIGHT,    NEAR    LOS    ANGELES 


MY   BLUE    GUM    GROVE.  213 

fastened  a  piece  of  paper  to  the  wire  fence  by 
the  road,  and  another  paper  to  the  nest  tree, 
binding  it  on  with  a  eucalyptus  twig  in  true 
sailor  fashion. 

It  was  always  a  relief  to  leave  the  hot  beating 
sun  and  the  glare  of  the  yellow  fields  and  enter 
the  cool  shade  of  the  quiet  grove.  I  could  let 
down  the  fence  and  put  it  up  behind  me;  thus 
having  my  small  forest  all  to  myself ;  and  used 
to  enjoy  riding  up  and  down  the  fragrant  blue 
avenues.  The  eucalyptus-trees,  although  thirty 
or  forty  feet  high,  were  lithe  and  slender ;  some 
of  them  could  be  spanned  by  the  hands.  The 
rows  were  planted  ten  feet  apart,  but  the  long 
branches  interlaced,  so  one  had  to  be  on  the 
alert,  in  riding  down  the  lines,  to  bend  low  on 
the  saddle  or  push  aside  the  branches  that  ob- 
structed the  way.  The  limbs  were  so  slender 
and  flexible  that  a  touch  was  enough  to  bend 
back  a  green  gate  fifteen  to  twenty  feet  long, 
and  Billy  often  pushed  a  branch  aside  with  his 
nose.  In  places,  fallen  trees  barred  our  path, 
but  Billy  used  to  step  carefully  over  them. 

The  eucalyptus  -  trees  change  very  curiously 
as  they  grow  old.  When  young  they  are  cov- 
ered with  branches  low  to  the  ground,  and  their 
aromatic  tender  leaves  are  light  bluish  green; 
afterwards  they  lose  their  lower  branches,  while 
their  leaves  become  stiff  and  sickle-shaped,  dull 
green  and  almost  odorless.  The  same  changes 


214  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

are  seen  in  the  bark :  first  the  trunks  are  smooth 
and  green ;  then  they  are  hung  with  shaggy 
shreds  of  bark ;  this  in  turn  drops  off  so  that 
the  old  trees  are  smooth  again.  Some  of  the 
young  shoots  have  almost  white  stems,  and  their 
leaves  have  a  pinkish  tinge.  Indeed,  a  young 
blue  gum  is  as  pretty  a  sight  as  one  often  sees  ; 
it  is  a  tree  of  exquisite  delicacy  of  coloring. 

Mountain  Billy  and  I  both  liked  to  wander 
among  the  blue  gums.  Billy  liked  it,  perhaps, 
for  association's  sake,  for  we  had  ridden  through 
the  eucalyptus  at  his  home  in  northern  Cali- 
fornia. I  too  had  pleasant  memories  of  the 
northern  gums,  but  my  first  interest  was  in 
finding  out  who  lived  in  my  little  woods.  A 
dog  had  once  been  seen  driving  a  coyote  wolf 
out  of  it,  but  that  was  merely  in  passing.  I 
did  not  expect  to  meet  wolves  there.  It  was 
said,  however,  to  be  a  good  place  for  tarantulas, 
so  at  first  I  stepped  over  the  dead  leaf  carpet 
with  great  caution ;  but  never  seeing  any  of 
the  big  spiders,  grew  brave  and  sat  indifferently 
right  on  the  ground  before  the  nests,  or  leaning 
up  against  the  trees.  The  ground  was  almost 
as  hard  as  a  rock,  for  the  eucalyptus  absorbed 
all  the  moisture,  and  that  may  have  had  some- 
thing to  do  with  its  freedom  from  snakes  and 
scorpions,  though  it  would  not  explain  the 
absence  of  caterpillars  and  spiders,  which  just 
then  were  so  common  outside.  Though  in  the 


MY   BLUE    GUM    GROVE.  215 

grove  a  great  deal,  I  never  ran  into  but  one 
cobweb,  and  was  conscious  of  the  pleasant  free- 
dom from  falling  caterpillars.  Moreover,  I 
never  saw  a  lizard  in  the  blue  gums,  though 
dozens  of  them  were  to  be  seen  about  the  oaks 
and  in  the  brush. 

It  was  a  surprise  to  find  so  many  feathered 
folks  living  in  the  eucalyptus,  and  I  took  a 
personal  interest  in  each  one  of  the  inhabitants. 
The  first  time  we  started  to  go  up  and  down 
the  avenues  we  scared  up  a  pair  of  turtle  doves, 
beautiful,  delicately  tinted  gentle  creatures,  fit 
tenants  of  the  lovely  grove.  They  did  not  know 
my  friendly  interest  in  them,  and  flew  to  the 
ground  trailing  and  trying  to  decoy  me  away 
in  such  a  marked  manner  that  when  we  passed 
a  young  dove  a  few  yards  farther  on,  it  was  easy 
to  put  two  and  two  together. 

Yellow-birds  called  cheetf-tee,  ca-cheetf-ta-tee, 
and  the  grove  became  musical  with  the  sweet 
calls  of  the  young  brood.  There  was  one  nest 
with  a  roof  of  shaggy  bark,  and  I  wondered  if 
the  birds  thought  it  would  be  pleasant  to  live 
under  a  roof,  or  whether  the  bark  had  fallen 
down  on  them  after  they  built.  I  could  get  no 
trace  of  the  owners  of  the  nest,  and  it  troubled 
me,  not  liking  to  have  any  little  homes  in  my 
wood  that  I  did  not  know  all  about.  As  we  went 
down  one  aisle,  a  big  bird  went  blundering  out 
ahead  of  us,  probably  an  owl,  for  afterwards  we 


216  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

stumbled  on  a  skeleton  and  feathers  of  one  of  the 
family. 

In  one  of  the  trees  we  came  to  an  enormous 
nest  made  of  the  unusual  materials  that  are 
sometimes  chosen  by  that  strange  bird,  the  road- 
runner.  It  was  an  exciting  discovery,  for  that 
was  before  the  road-runner  had  come  to  the  ranch- 
house,  and  I  had  been  pursuing  phantom  runners 
over  the  hills  in  the  vain  attempt  to  learn  some- 
thing about  them ;  while  here,  it  seemed,  one  had 
been  living  under  my  very  vine  and  fig-tree !  To 
make  sure  about  the  nest,  I  spoke  to  my  neigh- 
bor ranchman,  and  he  told  me  that  when  he  had 
been  milking  during  the  spring  he  had  often  seen 
the  birds  come  out  of  the  blue  gums,  and  had 
also  seen  them  perching  there  on  the  trees.  How 
exasperating !  If  I  had  only  come  earlier !  Now 
they  had  gone,  and  my  chance  of  a  nest  study 
was  lost. 

But  my  doll  was  not  stuffed  with  sawdust,  for 
all  of  that.  There  was  still  much  to  enjoy,  for  a 
mourning  dove  flew  from  her  nest  of  twigs  almost 
over  Billy's  head,  and  it  made  me  quite  happy  to 
know  that  the  gentle  bird  was  brooding  her  eggs 
in  my  woods.  Then  it  was  delightful  to  see  a 
lazuli  bunting  on  her  nest  down  another  aisle. 
It  seemed  odd,  for  there  was  her  little  cousin 
nesting  out  in  the  weeds  in  the  bright  sun,  while 
she  was  raising  her  brood  in  the  shady  forest. 
The  two  nests  were  as  unlike  as  the  sites.  The 


MY   BLUE    GUM    GROVE.  217 

bird  outside  had  used  dull  green  weeds,  while 
this  one  used  beautiful  shining  oak  stems.  I 
thought  the  pretty  bird  would  surely  be  safe  here, 
but  one  day  when  I  called,  expecting  to  see  a 
growing  family,  I  was  shocked  to  find  a  pathetic 
little  skeleton  in  the  nest. 

One  afternoon  in  riding  down  the  rows,  I  came 
face  to  face  with  two  mites  of  hummingbirds 
seated  on^  a  branch.  Their  grayish  green  suits 
toned  in  with  the  color  of  the  blue  gums.  It 
was  a  surprise  when  one  of  them  turned  to  the 
other  and  fed  it  —  the  mother  hummer  was  small 
enough  to  be  taken  for  a  nestling !  She  sat  be- 
side her  son  and  fed  him  in  the  conventional 
way,  by  plunging  her  bill  down  his  open  mouth. 
When  she  had  flown  off,  he  stretched  his  wings, 
whirred  them  as  if  for  practice,  and  then  moved 
his  bill  as  if  still  tasting  the  dainty  he  had  had 
for  supper.  He  sat  very  unconcernedly  on  a  low 
branch  right  out  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  but 
Billy  did  not  run  over  him. 

I  found  two  hummers'  nests  in  the  eucalyptus 
during  the  summer.  One  builder  was  the  one 
the  photographer  was  fortunate  enough  to  catch 
brooding  ;  her  nest,  the  one  so  charmingly  placed 
on  a  light  blue  branch  between  two  straight 
spreading  leaves,  like  the  knot  between  two  bows 
of  stiff  ribbon. 

The  second  nest  was  on  a  drooping  branch,  and, 
to  make  it  stand  level,  was  deepened  on  the  down 


218  A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 

side  of  the  limb,  making  it  the  highest  humming- 
bird's nest  I  had  ever  seen.  It  was  attached  to  a 
red  leaf  —  to  mark  the  spot,  perhaps  —  one  often 
wonders  how  a  bird  can  come  back  twice  to  the 
same  leaf  in  a  forest.  How  one  little  home  does 
make  a  place  habitable  !  From  a  bare  silent 
woods  it  becomes  a  dwelling-place.  Everything 
seemed  to  centre  around  this  little  nest,  then  the 
only  one  in  the  grove ;  the  tiny  pinch  of  down 
became  the  most  important  thing  in  the  woods. 
It  was  the  castle  which  the  trees  surrounded. 

When  I  first  found  the  nest  it  held  two  white 
warm  eggs  about  as  large  as  peas,  and  I  became 
much  interested  in  watching  their  progress,  often 
riding  down  to  see  how  they  were  getting  on. 
The  hummer  did  not  return  my  interest.  She 
was  nervous,  darting  off  when  Billy  shook  him- 
self or  when  the  shadow  of  a  soaring  turkey  buz- 
zard fell  over  the  nest ;  but  in  spite  of  that  we 
made  ourselves  quite  at  home  before  her  door.  I 
would  dismount  and  sit  on  the  ground,  leaning 
against  a  blue  gum,  while  Billy  stood  by,  in  a 
bower  of  green  leaves,  with  ears  pricked  forward 
thoughtfully,  and  a  dreamy  look  of  satisfaction  in 
his  eyes.  Hummingbirds  are  such  dainty  things. 
Once  when  this  one  alighted  on  the  rim  of  her 
nest  she  whirred  herself  right  down  inside.  Soon 
she  began  to  act  so  strangely  for  a  brooding  bird 
that,  when  she  flew,  I  went  to  feel  in  the  nest. 
The  tips  of  my  fingers  touched  what  felt  like 


MY  BLUE    GUM    GROVE.  219 

round  balls,  but,  not  satisfied,  I  pulled  down  the 
bough  and  found  one  round  ball  and  one  mite  of 
a  gray  back  with  microscopic  yellow  hairs  on  each 
side  of  the  spine.  The  whole  tiny  body  seemed 
to  throb  with  its  heart  beats.  I  wondered  how 
such  a  midget  could  ever  be  fed,  but  found,  as  in 
the  case  of  the  hummer  under  the  little  lover's 
tree,  that  the  mother  gave  its  food  most  gently, 
reserving  her  violent  pumping  for  a  more  suitable 
age ;  though  one  would  as  soon  think  of  poking  a 
needle  down  a  baby's  throat  as  that  bill. 

Often,  while  watching  the  nest,  my  thoughts 
wandered  away  to  the  grove  itself.  The  brown 
earth  between  the  rows  was  barred  by  alternate 
lines  of  sunlight  and  shadow,  and  the  vista  of  each 
avenue  ended  in  blue  sky.  Sometimes  cool  ocean 
breezes  would  penetrate  the  forest.  The  rows  of 
trees,  with  their  gently  swaying,  interlacing 
branches,  cast  moving  shadows  over  the  sun- 
touched  leafy  floor,  giving  a  white  light  to  the 
grove  ;  for  the  undersides  of  the  young  eucalyptus 
leaves  are  like  snow.  From  the  stiff,  sickle- 
shaped  upper  leaves  the  sun  glanced,  dazzling 
the  eyes.  Mourning  doves  cooed,  and  the  sweet 
notes  of  yellow-birds  filled  the  sunny  grove  with 
suggestions  of  happiness.  A  yellow  butterfly 
wandered  down  the  blue  aisles.  Such  a  secure 
retreat !  I  returned  to  it  again  and  again,  coming 
in  out  of  the  hot  yellow  world  and  closing  behind 
me  the  doors  of  my  'rest-house,'  for  the  little 


220 


A-BIRDING    ON   A    BRONCO. 


wood  had  come  to  seem  like  a  cool  wayside  chapel, 
a  place  of  peace. 

And  when  I  finally  left  California,  deserting 
Mountain  Billy  to  return  to  the  East,  of  all  my 
haunts  the  one  left  the  most  unwillingly  was  the 
little  blue  gum  grove,  the  peaceful  wayside  rest- 
house,  in  whose  whitened  shade  we  had  spent  so 
many  quiet  hours  together. 


INDEX. 


Beebird,  114-11G,  117. 
catching  bees,  114,  115. 
caught  in  cobweb  rope,  11G. 
defending  nest  with  life,  91-92. 
domesticity,  11G. 
nycatching,  1C,  91,  1GO. 
making  living  off  blackbirds,  13. 
nest,  91. 

nesting  site,  91,  115. 
noisy,  15. 
notes,  91,  11G. 
quarrelsome,  91,  115,  11G. 
Bird  Psychology, 

association  of  ideas,  46,  72,  75,  7G, 

77,  78,  115,  135,  138,  154,  198. 
caution,  9,  22,  28,  3G,  G5,  6G,  G7,82, 

85,  87,  88,  94,  15G,  19G,  198,  201, 

202,  204. 
courage,  11-12,  23,  40,  42,  54,  83, 

95, 97, 126, 129, 141, 144,  175,  177, 

180,  181,  210,  215. 
curiosity,  25,  97,  100,  151. 
dissimulation,  45,  49,  62, 190,  215. 
emotion,  —  fear,  22,  25,  2G,  27,  34, 

35,  40,  41,  42,  46,  61,  G7,  71,   73, 

81,  87,  88,  105,  133,  135, 154,  164, 

177,  180,  191,  215,  218  ;  grief,  46, 
47,  92  ;  joy,  30,  204  ;  unusual  ac- 
tion under  excitement,  30,  58,  G3, 
G4,  81,  87,  88, 191,  208. 

expression  of  emotion  and  ideas,  — 
by  use  of  crests,  attitudes,  and 
movements,  8,  9,  11,  16,  2G,  30, 
31,  32,  33,  34,  39,  41,  42,  44,  46, 
49,  53,  56,  59,  63,  64,  G7,  76,  78, 
79,  81,  84,87,  88,  90,  97,  101,  105, 
116,  117,  124,  129,  132,  138,  139, 
149,  156,  166,  180,  190,  191,  202, 
205, 208, 215.  By  voice,  —  calls  of 
warning,  5, 42, 53, 85,197, 198, 201 , 
202, 203, 209 ;  conversation,  15, 25, 
28,  33,  35, 36, 41, 42, 43,44,  46,  48, 
49,  52, 59,  62,  69,  71, 74,  75,  78, 84, 
85,  87,  89,  90,  109,  110,  118, 

132,  134,  145,  147,  149,  153,  156, 

178,  180,  182,  190,  192  ;  cries  of 
anger,    anxiety,     distress,   fear, 
pain,  12,  45,  46,  47,  58,  86,  91,  94, 

133,  138,  191 ;  exclamations,  44, 
58,  61,  87,  115,  116,  124;  scold- 
ings, 34,  36,  37,  58,  60,  86, 95,  96, 


162, 172, 182  ;  songs  of  happiness, 
8,  10,  15,  21,  22,  52,  59,  82,  83, 84, 
90,  93,  95,  96,  97,  122,  126,  142, 
169,  175,  178,  198,  205 ;  songs  of 
love,  22,  2G,  30,  31,  56,  90,  101, 

142,  168,  170,  181,  204,  205,  208. 
humor,  124. 

individuality,  6,  8,  11,  13,  14,  16, 

22,  25,  26,  30,  31,  32,  33,  34,  35, 
38,  41,  42, 43, 44, 45,  46,  49, 50,  52, 
54,  56,  62,  63,  G4,  65,  75-80,  81, 
84,   85,   86,   87,   88,  90,  91,    95, 
96,  97,  98,  99,  100,  101,  111,  115, 
124,  125, 126,  132,  136,  139,  142, 

143,  149,  153,  154,  1G3,  164,  170, 
179,  181,  184,  190,  194,  195,  204, 
205,  208,  209,  21G-217. 

inherited  instincts,  75,  76,  78,  79, 
156. 

intelligence  shown  in,  —  building, 
17,  28,  49,  50,  53,  107,  108,  109, 
114,  136,  150,  154,  158,  217-218  ; 
disciplining  young,  85 ;  getting 
food  by  others'  work,  13  ;  profit- 
ing by  mistakes,  107,  109,  133, 
134,  153-154  (?) ;  protecting 
young,  8,  9,  12,  36,  37,  85,  135, 
156,  191,  215;  removing  nest 
from  danger,  60,  114,  154  ;  se- 
lecting materials  for  nest,  14,  53, 
56,  82,  89,  96,  107,  127,  144,  150, 
179,  181  ;  selecting  nesting  site, 

23,  28,  83,  93,  95,   99,  124,  127, 
130,  131,  150  ;  silence  of  young 
in  danger,  71,  85. 

keen  senses,  59,  74,  97. 

local     attachment,      6;      special 

perches,  57,   62,    126,    129,   167, 

202,  204,  206. 
play  impulse,  12,  115,  124,  155  (?), 

208-209. 
pride  of  possession,  25,  86,   115, 

204-205. 

self-denial,  33,  50,  52. 
Birds, 
adaptation,    150,     152,    1G3,    1G4 ; 

protective  coloration,  10,  11,  81, 

92,  101,  185,  199. 
domestic    life,  —  accept    help    in 

building,   97,    152-153,  175-178, 

179-180  ;    affection,  22,  27,  30, 


222 


INDEX. 


31,  32,  33,  78,  84,  85,  90, 142, 1G6,  ! 
180,  182,   190,  201 ,  204,  208  ;  as  , 
parents,  7,  8,  9,  11,   12,  23,  24, 
31-38,  4C,  55,  G3,  C4,  09,  84,  85, 
87,   88,  110,  111,  129,   135,   137,  j 
154-155,  150,   172,  182,  185-180,  j 
189-193,   215,   217 ;    companion- 
ship of  mates,  22,  26,  27,  30,  31, 
42,  4G,  53,  56,  59,  62,  81,  83,  87, 
89,  90,  106,   109,  126,  141,  142,  , 
145,  166,  177,  178,  180,  182,  196,  I 
204  ;  coquettish  airs,  33  ;  court-  ! 
ship,  31,  90,  101,  148,   149  ;  de-  I 
fense  of  nest,  7,  8,  9,  11,  12,  25,  i 
45,  46,  47,  57,  58,  86,  91,  92,  115,  ! 
124-125,  138,  141,  178,  182,  204- 
205, 209  ;  excitement  when  young 
hatch,  63 ;    family  government, 
12,    35,    85,   111,   156;    friendly 
birds  shy  at  nest,  65,  66,  67,  86, 
87,  88,  93,  94,  99,  105,  153,  198,  i 
202,   203 ;  —  habits  of  male   at 
nest:  absent,  24,  149-155,  167; 
brings  mate  food  for  young,  32, 
63  ;  brings  material  to  mate,  50, 
52  ;  broods,   43,   44,  62  ;    builds 
while  female  looks  on  or  goes  off 
with  other  females,  199,  200.  203, 
204,  207-208  ;  feeds  mate,  27,  52,  ! 
126,    132,   134,   180,   182 ;    feeds  j 
young,  33,  82,  88  ;  guards  mate, 
27,  42,  53,  201  ;  helps  mate  build,  \ 
48,  50,  52,  61,  106,  108,  109,  126,  i 
135,  142,  145  ;  sings  while  mate  i 
builds  and  broods,  22,  26,  30,  31, 
33,  56,  83,  84,  90,  175,  177,  178  ; 
—  interval  between  building  and 
brooding,  59,  145,  181 ;    looking  ; 
for  nesting  sites,  25,  26, 129, 184- 
185  ;  lordly  airs  of  male,  25,  115, 
116,  117,  172,  208,  paternal  in- 
stinct, 31-33,  53,   63,  191,   204,  ! 
205 ;  persistence  in  work,  60, 107, 
178 ;  reluctance  to  brood,  43, 44  ;  j 
tenderness  to  young,  23,  33,  84,  I 
85. 

food,  —  ants,  76  ;  bees,   114,   115 ;  i 
carrion,  97  ;   cocoons,  100  ;    go- 
phers,   136;    grubs,  12,  13,   111; 
insects,  4,  6,  7,  16,  31,  36,  82,  91, 
101,  150,  160  ;  lizards  and  toads, 
99  ;  pepper  berries,  197, 198,  201  ;  i 
rats  and  mice,  137  ;  scale,   103  ; 
seeds,    93,     162 ;    snakes,    132  ; 
spiders,  31  ;  worms,  12,  13,  57, 
164,  182,  185,  186,  190. 

flight,  5,  7,  16,  17,  24,  30,  81,  91, 
98,  99,  103,  115,  118,  147,  149, 
153,  156,  161,  166,  168,  184,  195, 
196,  197,  209. 

friendliness  when  not  disturbed, 
10, 13,  23, 30,  40,  42,  45,  53,  59,  61, 


64,  67,  83,  86,  89,  92,  95,  97,  100. 
105,  126,  128,129,  144,  148,  150- 
151,  153,  158,  171,  178,  180,   182- 
183,  185,  186,  197,  200,  201,  204. 
legends  about,  11,  105. 
local  names,  —  blue  jay,   6;    bur- 
rowing   owl,   11;    bush-tit,    5(>; 
California  towhee,  92. 
neighborly  relations,  13,  25,  45-48, 
49,  57-61,  62,  80,  86,  96,  100,  108, 
115,  116,  124,  125,  126,  130,  138, 
147,    171-174,    189-193,  204  205, 
208-209. 

nervousness,  9,  11,  22,  26,  34,  35, 
42,  47,  53,  56,  61,  63,  64,  67,  70, 
76,  81,  82,  87,  88,  97,  105,  117, 
138,  139.  156,  166,  177,  180.  I'.U, 
208,  218. 

Blackbird,  Brewer's,  86-88,  117,  128. 
afraid  of  a  bath,  16. 
attacking  hawks  and  owls,  135, 139. 
a  jolly  colony,  123,  124. 
building,  124. 
common  in  valley,  92. 
curiosity  about  road-runner,  100. 
following  plow  for  grubs,  12,  13. 
nervousness  at  nest,  87-88. 
nesting  sites,  86,  124. 
pranks,  124. 

repulsing  shrike,  124,  125. 
ruling  dooryard,  86, 
Blackbird,  Red-winged,  14. 

eating  grubs  in  vineyard,  12-13. 
following  plow,  13. 
nesting  in  marsh,  118. 
Blackbird,  Rusty,  86. 
Blackbird,  Yellow-headed, 
in  vineyard,  13-14. 
on  mustard,  14. 
Blackbirds,  15,  114,  118,  120. 
flocks    riding    cattle,    hogs,     and 

horses,  14. 

Bluebird,  Mexican,  187. 
nesting  site,  185. 
second  nest,  186. 
Blue  Jay.     See  Jay. 
Blue  Squawker.     See  Jay. 
Brown  Chippie.     See   Towhee,   Cali- 
fornia. 

Bunting,  Indigo,  81. 
Bunting,  Lazuli,  81-83,  123,  189-193. 
call,  190. 

keeping  out  of  quarrel,  45-46. 
nest,  82,  216-217. 
nesting  site,  27,  82,  216. 
song,  6,  44,  83,  117. 
taking  insects  to  nest,  82. 
young  fed  by  wren-tit,  189,  190. 
Bush-tit,  California,  28.  56,  59,  103- 

111,  117,  161,  162,  166. 
building,  105-107,  108,  110,  184. 
call  notes,  109,  110. 


INDEX. 


223 


common  bird,  103. 

destroys  olive  scale,  103. 

legend  of  fire-fly  lamps,  105. 

local  name,  56. 

nest,  103,  104,  105. 

nesting  site,  103. 

nest  roof  falls  in,  10(5. 

second  nest  better  built,  107,  101). 

snake  in  nest,  108. 
Butcherbird.     See  Shrike. 
Butterflies,  migrating,  100. 

California,  southern,  147. 

colors,  21'2. 

marsh  in,  118. 

natural  irrigation,  21. 

sky,  G7. 
Canello,  2. 

afraid    of    boggy  land,   Mexicans, 
and  rattlesnakes,  2-3,  127-128. 

indifferent  to  water  snakes,  15. 

made  nervous  by  hummingbird,  7. 

miring,  17-19. 

visiting  feathered    tenants    with, 

1^3—139 
Chaparral,   5,  G,  55,  61,  94,  100,  103- 

104,  159,  167,  197,  201. 
Chaparral  cock.     See   Road-runner. 
Chat,  long-tailed,  163. 
Chewink.     See  Towhee. 
Chickadee,  103,  176. 
Coast  Mountains,  1,  4,  6, 15, 102, 104, 
112,  113. 

valley  in,  1,  2,  4,  5,  20,  112. 

at  morning,  5,  68,  112,  137. 

in  evening,  19,  101,  102,  121,  122. 

under  moonlight,  102. 
Coyote  wolves, 

barking,  91,  102. 

chasing  a  dog,  119. 

in  eucalyptus,  214. 
Crow,  « 

killed  bee-bird,  92. 

nest,  212. 

Dove,  Mourning,   21,  118,  141,   131, 

169,  219. 

a  gentle  pair,  166. 
brooding,  67. 
friendliness,  42,  45. 
nest,  216. 

nesting  site,  40,  166,  2 
perches,  57,  160. 
superior  airs  of  male,  116,  117. 
timidity,  41,  42. 
trailing,  215. 

Eagle,  13. 
Egret,  White,  17. 

Finch,  Western  House,  117,  160. 
avoids  shrike  neighborhood,  126. 


bathing,  16. 
courtship,  90. 
common  birds.  92. 
discussions,  28. 
examining  wren's  nest,  25. 
implicated  in  tragedy,  171-174. 
nesting  sites,  90,  96,  172,  186. 
songs,  90. 

stealing  wren's  material,  171. 
using  swallow's  nest,  96. 
Flicker,  Red-shafted,  136-137,  160. 
building,  136. 
nesting  site,  27,  136. 
notes,  136. 
works  as  if  wound  up,  136. 

Flowers  and  Plants, 

blue  sage,  61,  147. 

chilicothe,  168. 

dodder,  89-90. 

'fly  flower,'  160.. 

forget-me-not,  128. 

mallow,  128. 

mustard,  14,  67,  119,  123, 127,  147. 

on  border  of  pond,  15. 

poison  oak,  167. 

'  Poppy,'  160. 

primrose,  69,  147. 

wild  celery,  120. 

wild  gooseberry,  147. 
'  Flycatcher,  140. 

in  chaparral,  G. 
Fog,  19,  68.  101,  112. 

'  Goldfinch,  21,  44,  164,  215,  219. 

feeding,  7. 

nest,  23. 

nest  destroyed,  27. 

nesting  site,  184,  186. 

note,  215. 

Gnatcatcher,    Western,    38-64,    81, 
123,  161,  205. 

building,  48-60,  61,62. 

calls,  43,  44,  45. 

comical  parents,  63,  64. 

defending  nest,  45,  57,  58. 

egg  broken  by  wren-tit,  46. 

eggshell  carried  away,  46. 

feeding  young  in   new  way,  63- 
64. 

jaunty    nervous  manners,  38,   39, 
40,  41,  44,  56,  63. 

nest,  39,  41,  60.  168. 

nesting  site,  39,  48,  60,  61,  167. 

nest  moved,  60. 

spelling  each  other,  43,  44,  62. 

talkative,  41. 
Gophers,  70,  136. 
Grosbeak,  Black-headed, 

migrants,  8,  58. 

song,  170. 
Grosbeak,  Blue,  120. 


224 


INDEX. 


Hangbird.     See  Bush-tit. 
Hawk,  Buteo,  building,  135. 

more  likely   to  eat  gophers   than 

birds,  13G. 
Hawk,  Fish,  13. 
Hawk,  Sparrow,  131-135,  130. 

chased  by  bee-bird,  91. 

nesting  site,  131. 

snakes  for  breakfast,  132. 

too  small  a  front  door,  131-134. 
Hawks,  1G,  86. 
Heron,  Green,  17. 

Lark,  Horned, 

on  roadsides,  10. 

song,  10. 
Horse,    as  help  in   observing,     3-4, 

125,  201-204. 

How-do-you-do  Owl.     See  Owl,  Bur- 
rowing. 

Hummingbird,  147,  180. 
Hummingbird,  Blaek-chinned,  23-25, 
147-158,  101,  202,  217-219. 

around  flowers  by  house,  88. 

attacking  horse  and  rider,  7. 

building,  149-155. 

call,  153. 

courtship  dance,  149. 

enter  house,  89. 

feeding  from  primroses,  G9. 

feeding  young,  23,  24,  155,  217. 

help  in  cross-fertilization,  150. 

nest,  23. 

nest  destroyed,  2G. 

nesting  sites,  23,  89.  130,  147-148, 
155,  158,  161,  217-218. 

perch,  57,  167. 

probing  tobacco-tree  flowers,  88. 

tremulous  moulding,  152. 
Hummingbird,  Rufous,  147. 

around  wild  gooseberries,  147, 108. 

song,  168. 

Irrigation,  natural,  21,  38,  159-160. 

Jay,   California,  59,   61,   84-85,  105, 

123,  160,  161. 
disciplining  young,  85. 
frightening  small  birds,  28,  58,  60, 

84,  141. 
local  name,  6. 
protecting  young,  85. 
scream,  169,  184. 
tender  to  young,  84,  85. 

Kingbird, 

Arkansas.  See  Bee-bird. 
Cassin's.  See  Bee-bird. 
Eastern,  91. 

Linnet.     See  Finch. 
Lions,  colts  killed  by,  30. 


List  of  Birds  referred  to,  ix. 

List  of  Illustrations,  vii. 

Lizards,  as  eggers,  28, 150,  200,  203. 

Magpie,  51,98.. 

Mexican  bridle,  3. 

Miring,  17-19. 

Mockingbird,  thrasher's  resemblance 

to,  6. 
Mountain  Billy,  20. 

a  good  lope,  42-43,  112. 

a  narrow  escape,  120. 

a  petted  companion,  105,  187; 

carrying  blue  gum  boughs,  211. 

carrying  a  chair,  60-61. 

enjoying  blue  gum  grove,  214,  218. 

frightened  by  deer,  28-30. 

ignoring  snakes,  187-188. 

improving  his  time,  68,  69,  114. 

inventing  a  fly  brush,  54,  55. 

rolling,  165-166. 
Mutual  help  in  nature,  150. 

Nesting   season,    date    in   southern 

California,  21,  30,  67,  69,  86. 
Nests, 

broken  up,  Id.  2G,  27,  47,  127,  143, 

145,  158,  172,  204,  20G,  217. 
building,  hard  work,  56,  GO,  107. 
building    methods,    49-50,    52-54, 

82,  107,  108,   109,  127,  135,  136, 

142,  150-154,158,  175,  199,  200, 

203,  204,  205-206,  207. 
defective  building  (?),  106. 
excessive  amount  of  material.  96, 

107,  108. 

knothole  entrance  too   small,  131. 
materials    of    first    nest    used    in 

second,  60,  107,  109-110,  154. 
moved  to  safer  place,  60,  154. 
odd  situations,  9,  95,  130,  171. 
protective  coloration.   82,  90,  144, 

150. 

rapid  building,  108,  206. 
second,  48  (?),   60,  107, 154. 18G. 
snakes  in,  108. 
third  (?),  60. 
time  taken  to  build,  60. 
unusual  materials,  14,  89,  90. 

Observing,  1,   2,   40,   60-61,  66,   67, 

68,  81,  82,  109,  114,  123, 130,  135, 

139,  141,  166,  195,  196,  197,  198, 

201-205,  215. 

assisting  in  nest  building,  97,  109- 

110,  175-183. 

delight  of  finding  a  new  bird,  13. 
proportion  of  birds  identified  with- 
out a  gun,  2,  140. 
temptations  in,  92,  93,  194. 
Oden  Canyon,  159-160. 
Oregon  Robin,  20. 


INDEX. 


225 


Oriole,  27,  104,  130,  131. 
Oriole,  Arizona  Hooded, 

building,  89. 
Oriole,  Bullock's,  102. 

attacking  an  owl,  139. 

nest,  117. 

song  flight,  184. 
Owl,  105,  215-210. 

asleep  in  window,  137. 

diet  of  rats  and  mice,  137. 

hiding  in  wells  and  mining  shafts, 

137,  138. 
Owl,  Barn, 

an  old  crone,  13V). 

nesting  site,  13V). 
Owl,  Burrowing,  119,  212. 

battles  with  a  collie,  11,  12. 

feeding  young,  11,  12. 

nest  not  shared  with  rattlesnakes, 
11. 

screws  head  off,  11. 
Owl,  Western  Horned, 

devices  to  protect  young,  8,  0. 

mobbed  by  neighbors,  138. 

Pewee,  Wood,  101-1(52. 

building,  57,  59.  01. 

nesting  site,  57,  00. 

nest  moved,  GO. 

perch,  02,  101. 
Phainopepla,  194-210. 

a  distinguished  bird,  194. 

building  (done  by  male),   199,  203, 
204,  205,  200. 

call,  205. 

eating  pepper  berries  in  door-yard, 
197. 

nest,  205. 

nesting  site,  199. 

song,  205. 
Phoebe,  Black,  115,  128-130,  189. 

brooding  under  a  pump,  129. 

in  the  hen-house,  130. 

nest,  130. 

nesting  site,  117,  128-129,  130. 
Pipit,  American,  10. 
Pond,  made  by  spring  rains, 

rendezvous  of  birds,  5,  14-17. 
Poor- will,  Dusky, 

call,  101-102. 

fly  catching,  101. 

Quail,  Valley, 
call,  5. 

flight  of  covey,  30. 
in  chaparral,  55. 
in  vineyard,  73. 
tracks,  43. 

Rabbit, 

cottontail,  94,  118,  164. 
jack,  5,  29,  94-95,  97. 


Road-runner,  98-101. 

around  ranch-house,  100, 

drowned  in  windmill  tanks,  100, 

eating  with  hens,  100. 

fleetness,  98. 

hunting  cocoons,  100. 

love  call,  101. 

nest,  99,  216. 
Robin,  8,  92. 

Shrike,  White-rumped,  124-127,  128. 

absence  of  birds  in  neighborhood, 
12G. 

building,  125,  126-127. 

gentle  at  nest,  125,  126. 

invading  blackbird  premises,  124- 
125. 

nest,  125. 

nesting  site,  125,  127. 
Snakes, 

gopher,  43,  71,  120,  187-188. 

racer,  108. 

rattle,  43,  120,  121,  203. 

ringed,  55. 

water,  15. 
Sparrow,  15. 

Sparrow,  Golden-crowned,  16. 
Sparrow,  Song,  21,  22, 117. 

nest,  83-84. 

young,  83. 

Sparrow,  White-crowned,  16,  162. 
Squirrels,  ground,  11. 
Swallow,  96. 
Swallow,  Eave, 

drinking  on  wing,  17. 

getting  mud  for  nests,  16-17. 

nests  on  sycamore,  114. 

Tanager,  Louisiana,  27. 

a  brilliant  stranger,  131. 
Thrasher,  California,  163-164. 
digging  with  sickle-shaped  bill,  163- 

164. 

in  chaparral,  6. 
song,  6,  169. 

straight  bills  of  young,  164. 
Titmouse,  Plain,  141,  184,  175-183. 
building,  175-182. 
gladly  accepts  feathers,  177. 
needs  no  horsehair  or  straw,    179- 

181. 

nesting  sites,  175. 
song.  175. 

Tit,  Wren-,  57,  60,  62,  189-193. 
breaking    up    gnatcatcher's  nest, 

45,  46,  48. 

skulking  manners,  49,  59. 
song,  6,  169. 
usurping  a  mother's    rights,  189- 

193. 

Towhee,    California,   28,   46,   47,  57, 
58,  59,  92-95,  163,  189,  200. 


226 


INDEX. 


call  note,  92. 

common  and  tame,  92. 

nesting,  93,  94. 

shy  at  nest,  93-94. 

song,  93. 

Towhee,  Green-tailed,  102-103. 
Townee,  Spurred,  18,  100,  102. 

singing,  109. 
Trade  wind,  08-09. 
Trees, 

acacia,  189. 

elder,  15. 

eucalyptus,  211-220  ;  character  of, 
213-214,  219-220;  grove,  211- 
220  ;  raised  for  fuel,  211. 

live-oaks,  5,  G,  21,  86,  159-170 ; 
garden  of,  159-100,  170 ;  sapped 
by  mistletoe,  107. 

pepper,  197. 

sycamore,  15,  21,  24-25,  07,  08  ; 
the  big,  112-122,  159. 

tobacco,  88. 

willow,  123. 

Turkey  Buzzard.     See  Vulture. 
Turtle  Dove.     See  Dove. 
Twin  Oaks  Canyon,  5-0,  159. 

Ughland  Canyon,  21,  38,  123,  159. 

Vineyard,  birds  eating  grubs  in,  12- 

13. 
Vireo,  Button's,  140-140. 

a  devoted  pair,  142. 

building,  142,  145. 

call  note,  145. 

fond  of  nest,  143,  145. 

nest,  144. 

nesting  site,  141,  144. 
Vireo,  Least, 

song,  6,  44,  109. 
Vireo,  Warbling,  27,  59. 

building,  50. 

scolding  jay,  GO. 
Vulture,  Turkey,  1C,  97-98,  1G2. 

circle  over  fighting  snakes,  97. 

eating  woodpecker,  70. 

eating  skunk,  201. 

queer  attitude,  98. 

scavenger,  97. 

soaring,  97,  98. 

Warbler,  160. 

migrants,  0,  7,  123. 
Waxwing,  09. 

Whip-poor-will.     See  Poor-will. 
Woodpecker,   California,   65-80,  81, 
123. 

building,  28. 

flycatching,  160. 


hunting  ground  distant  from  nest, 
69. 

long  intervals  in  feeding,  69. 

lying  in  wait  for  prey,  141. 

nesting  site,  28,  71. 

notes,  09. 

old  birds  poisoned  (?),  70. 

rescuing  the  young,  71-73. 

young  orphans,  inherited  instincts, 

75,  70,  78,  79 ;  notes,  78. 
Woodpecker,  Red-headed,  00,  09. 
Wood  rat, 

in  chaparral,  55. 
Wren,  9-10. 
Wren,  Vigors's,  170-174. 

linnets  quarreling  over  materials, 

nesting  site,  171. 

young  buried  alive  by  linnets  (?), 

172-174. 
Wren,  Western  House,  20-37,  05,  07, 

69,  81,   84,   112,   117,    123,    100, 

219. 

building,  22,  25,  30,  90,  128. 
common  birds,  95. 
feeding  young  on  insects,  31. 
nesting  takes  six  weeks,  35. 
nests  in  sycamore  holes,  22,  128. 
odd  nesting  sites,  95. 
song,  22,  30,  96,  97. 
tremulous  motion  of  wings,  30,  33 

Yellow-bird.     See  Goldfinch. 
Young  birds, 
Bluebird,  185. 
Brewer's  Blackbird,  87. 
Burrowing  Owl,  11-12. 
Bush-tit,  28, 110,  111. 
California  Jay,  85. 
California  Woodpecker,  69-80. 
feather  tracts,  79. 
fed  at  long  intervals,  155. 
fed  on  insects,  31 ,  30,  70,  82. 
first  flights,  36,  73-74,  88,  156. 
Gnatcatchers,  63-64. 
Honied  Owl,  9. 
Hummingbird,  23,  24,  88,  155-157, 

217,  219. 

interest  in  each  other,  78,  79. 
Lazuli     Bunting,      189-193,     217; 

adopted  by  wren-tit,  189-193. 
Mourning  Dove,  47. 
Owl,  137. 
Sparrow  Hawk,  135 ;   subdued  on 

leaving  nest,   36 ;   time  kept  in 

nest,  69. 

Titmouse,  182-183. 
Vigors's  Wren,  171,  172,  174. 
Western  House  Wren,  33-37. 


INDEX  TO  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


Bee-birds,  13. 

Blackbird,  Brewer's,  13. 

Buntings,    Lazuli    (old    and  young), 

189. 

Bush-tits  (birds  and  nest),  104. 
Bush-tit  (nest  in  oak),  108. 

Chewink,  California  (head),  93. 
Chewink,  Eastern  (head),  93. 
Chewink,  Green-tailed  (head),  1G3. 

Eucalyptus  Avenue,  showing  pol- 
larded trees,  212. 

Eucalyptus  Wood  stored  for  Market 
in  a  Eucalyptus  Grove,  214. 

Gnatcatcher,     Western    (birds    and 

nest),  39. 

Grosbeak,  Black-headed  (head),  8. 
Grosbeak,  Rose-breasted  (head),  8. 

Hummingbird,  Black-chinned  (nest), 

Hummingbird,     Black-chinned     (on 

nest),  148. 

Mountain  Billy  Deserted,  220. 
Mountain    Billy     under    the    Gnat- 
catcher's  Oak,  frontispiece. 


Oaks,  Live.  160. 

Oriole,  Arizona  Hooded  (head),  89. 

Oriole,  Baltimore,  Eastern  (head),  89. 

Phainopepla's    Nest   in  Oak  Brush, 

198. 

Phainopeplas  on  Pepper-tree,  194. 
Phoabe,  Black  (head),  129. 
Phoebe,  Eastern  (head),  129. 

Quail,  Valley,  99. 
Road-runner,  99. 

Sycamores,  Along  the  Line  of,  124. 
Sycamore,  The  Big,  114. 

Titmouse,  Plain  (at  nest),  170. 
Valley  in  Coast  Mountains,  4. 

Woodpecker,  California,  (head),  6G. 
Woodpecker,  California  (young),  78. 
Woodpecker,  Red-headed,  Eastern 

(head),  GG. 
Wren-tit,  189. 

Wren,  Vigors's  (at  nest),  173. 
Wren,  Western  House,  32. 
Wren,  Western  House  (singing),  20. 


UJI7IRJITT 


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